


Shattered Ice

by Universe6Rose



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Super
Genre: F/M, Faked Death, Innuendo, M/M, Mention of Harem, Multi, hidden identity, redemption arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 52,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29411151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Universe6Rose/pseuds/Universe6Rose
Summary: Frost’s glory days are long gone.He had it all when he took on the false guise of a hero. Fame, status, friends… and Cabba. But, once his true colors were revealed, he lost it all… and, as insult to injury, the God of Destruction takes his eye.However, all hope is not lost, as Hit is able to find him and give him a chance to start over. He believes everything to be perfect once again… yet the past doesn’t simply go away. Trust is not simply earned back in Cabba’s eyes and Frost is followed by the reminder that his villainous father is still alive and subtly pulling at the strings. He wonders… can one truly ‘start over’, or will the past always remain?
Relationships: Cabba/Frost (Dragon Ball), Hit (Dragon Ball)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 5





	1. Shattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A weakened Frost on the verge of death is given sanctuary by a certain assassin.

Planet Daitoshi, an urban planet in the sixth universe, home to rainstorms and crime. The place of hiding for one particular criminal, once a hero…

Within the darkness of the barren streets, an ice-blue reptilian creature stood awaiting his prey. This creature was known as an Arcosian, a species commonly nicknamed "Ice Demons", based on the fact that they were cold-blooded in more ways than one. He was trembling, his breathing was jagged, and he was bordering on sickly.

This lurker of the shadows was the notorious Frost, a space pirate who had played the good guy for so long… Until a few months prior, when a foolish Galactic Patrolman saw through his facade. 

And that wasn’t even the worst of it. He finally had his chance to redeem himself in a tournament for survival and he _blew it!_ All because of that damned traitor, Frieza!

Now, he stood weakened, the only thing between him and hypothermia being a dark tattered cloak, in wait of those trying to pursue him. He needed to keep them incapacitated so he could find a better hiding place. He had not seen anyone yet, but he had this strange feeling that he was being watched. He could feel a cold and familiar presence.

Frost felt that it was most likely his paranoia talking, probably spawned from constant attack or the fact that he was bordering on being blind in one eye. He held his wrist as his trusted weapon, preparing to launch the toxic needle within it. Of course, his aim was shaky, as the left side of his view was filled with a thick mist occasionally stained red from the open sores running along his face. 

Suddenly, within the blood-filled fog, he finally noticed the unclear form of a being. He could make out a mass of deep gray and… lavender.

No, it couldn’t be him…

Yet, something still provoked him to fire the needle. “Hmph, he thinks he can sneak up on me that easily? Well-” He breathed. “I’ve got news for him. I’m not dying today…” The thorn rocketed through the thin air. However, in the blink of an eye, the gray and purple figure disappeared and the projectile fell to the ground.

Frost sighed. It must have been his vision playing tricks on him. There was no possible way it could’ve been the legendary assassin-

He felt a sudden presence behind him. “It’s been a while… Frost.” A stone cold and serious voice spoke.

“H-H-Hit…” Frost stuttered, not even daring to face him. Why was he here? Had he finally been sent to dispose of him?! “Have you come to try to take my life again? In my weakness?”

“I didn’t come here to-” Hit continued only to be interrupted by the Ice Demon collapsing onto his hands and knees. The assassin was visibly startled. Was he… _surrendering?!_ Hopefully, this was a trick to catch him off guard, like their last encounter. 

“Just make the strike!” Frost’s vision clouded further with tears. “You know what I’ve done. You know I can’t be forgiven. You know I don't deserve-" 

"Calm yourself… You’re speaking nonsense."

"Stop wasting time. Strike me down already! Just _end it! Finish me off!_ " 

Hit’s heart nearly sank as he observed the crestfallen and injured Ice Demon. He was truly a shell of his prime. This once proud and fearless vigilante was now a starved fugitive who trembled at the name of an assassin. He lost nearly everything when the patrolman ratted him out. Could it possibly be true that he did not even have the will to live anymore? 

"You’re-” The assassin hesitated. “You’re really serious?”

“Yes!”

“You _want_ me to kill you?”

“ _Yes!_ ” Frost slammed his palms onto the ground. "It's all I ask!"

“If that’s how you want it, then,” Hit began to explain. “I need you to get off the ground. I’m going to need a strike to a point in your neck.”

“Whatever you need to do…" Frost rose to his feet, trembling. His eyes were closed tightly.

"I’ll give you three seconds in case you need to reconsider.” Hit took a breath.

“Three…

Two…”

The Arcosian did not seem to be hesitant in the slightest about impending death. Hit let out a brief sigh and prepared to land the blow.

“One…”

The assassin leapt forward in time and struck a pressure point on the half-blind Arcosian’s neck…

* * *

_Frost walked along silently, following Vados into the grand stone castle. The many shades of violet mineral stood out in the dark of the evening. He felt like he was on trial having to trail behind the angel… and it didn’t help that she dragged him along with the rod of her scepter to keep tabs on him. The downsides of no longer being trusted._

_“I’m still surprised that you decided to arrange a meeting with Lord Champa, Frost.” The green-dressed angel continued to lead him up the stairs that spiralled throughout Champa’s grand palace. “And so soon after the tournament. I believe it’s only been about a week.”_

_“I’m aware.” The Arcosian spoke in a hushed tone._

_After a moment longer of silence, they came to the entrance way of a large room. He could catch a glimpse of the pudgy cat god Champa pacing along the wall of pillars. “We’ve arrived at my lord’s dining hall. He should be in here, since he’s awaiting his nightly meal.” Vados announced. She called into the room. “Lord Champa, there is someone here to meet with you!”_

_“I didn’t arrange for any meetings this evening!” He barked. “Not to mention, it’s almost time for my supper! Those six courses aren’t going to prepare themselves!"_

_Frost’s stomach briefly growled at the thought of a six-course dinner. Ever since his cover had been blown, he hadn’t been able to have even a light meal. Every few days, he could manage to feed off of what the land provided just enough to stave off starvation. Meanwhile, the God of Destruction was having a Thanksgiving feast on a nightly basis._

_"Forgive him,” Vados laughed a little. “He gets a bit huffy when it’s almost meal time. I’d better go prepare his meal.”_

_The Ice Demon trembled. 'A bit huffy’ for a God of Destruction could mean that he was angry enough to kill. “If he’s not in the best of moods, I can always come back another time.” He tried to explain to the angel._

_“Oh, don’t worry,” Vados prodded Frost with the tip of her angel’s scepter into the room, oblivious to his visible panic. “It’ll be fine!"_

_As Vados descended the stairway, Champa turned to face the reptilian criminal, who nervously looked destruction dead in the eyes._

* * *

Frost felt himself between soft layers of fabric, each one having a varying feel. Was this… _Hell_? His punishment for his crimes, his end result… a bunch of blankets? Perhaps this was some sort of strange purgatory. Weakly shifting his hand around, he sampled each texture. To his front seemed to be a smooth and silky sheet of linen. To his back was some sort of fluffy bath towel. Reaching out beyond, he could feel the marbled texture of a leather seat cushion. 

Where was he even? He was pretty sure he was dead. The assassin had dealt the blow.

Yet… he still felt.. pained… And he could faintly hear his slowed pulse beating in his ears.

He reached up to the wounds on his face. They still stung uncontrollably, and, as he pulled his hand back, he could feel it coated in blood. "Huh?”

“I see you’re awake.” A voice spoke from the left of him; the voice of Hit. 

That confirmed it…

“I-I’m still alive?!” His own voice was shaking and panicked. “But, how? You never fail to kill your targets. You’re 'Never Miss Hit’!”

“I held back on purpose. I simply used the pressure point in your neck to knock you unconscious so I could take you somewhere safer." 

"How long was I… out? We’re all the way at…” He tried to process exactly where he was, but the whole scene was out of focus and unfamiliar. He could only assume it was some sort of home. “Your… place?”

“Thankfully, I was gentle enough with you, so not that long. We’re not very far from where I found you. I live here on Daitoshi, you know. I’m never too far from work on this planet.” Hit got down off the couch and sat on his knees, allowing Frost to see his face. The Arcosian tried to focus his vision to fully make out his form. “Now, I need you to hold still for awhile.”

“Wait, why do I need to hold-” Frost was interrupted by Hit dabbing the mangled left side of his face with a cotton ball held between a pair of tweezers. He flinched and yelped with displeasure. “What the hell was that for?!" 

"Relax, it’s just medicine for your eye.” Hit grabbed the Ice Demon’s arm in an attempt to keep him still. Frost tensed up a little. “It’s only going to hurt more if you squirm.” The assassin took a bottle of clear liquid and applied more to the cotton ball. He continued to treat the trio of wounds. “Speaking of which, how did you get these injuries? It seems a bit too deliberate to be a simple trip and fall accident. In fact, they almost look like claw marks…”

* * *

_“You really think I’d forgive a performance like yours…” Champa glared at Frost. “Heh, don’t make me laugh.”_

_“But, Lord Champa,” The Arcosian tried to reason with the God of Destruction. “If you just remove the charges against me and let me return as head of my empire, I’ll be sure to make it worth-”_

_He was interrupted. “I said I would pardon you if you secured the win for us,” The pudgy anubis snarled. “And I’d hardly call your performance in the Tournament one worth praise. You promised me results right in these chambers after Hit fetched you from the trash. Instead, you let your guard down against that filthy rat from Universe 7, and you humiliated me in front of the other universes by returning to your cheating ways and getting yourself vaporized.”_

_“It was all that traitor Frieza’s fault! That wasn’t my-”_

_“It was your own fault. You got cocky. You didn’t hold your end of the agreement, so I’m not holding mine. Now, leave so I can eat my dinner in peace.”_

_Frost was left standing in shock as his chance at redemption was swept out of his grasp… and at the same time, a feeling of anger was welling up inside._

_At that moment, Vados arrived at the top of the stairs, levitating the six courses of Champa’s supper. “Lord Champa, your dinner is ready.”_

_“Ah, finally!” Champa turned around to face his attendant, his mouth watering at the sight. “Now, before we proceed, would you kindly escort this cretin out of my presence?”_

_“On it, my lord.”_

_Frost couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Not only was he refused redemption… he was being discarded without a second thought. He couldn’t take the thought…_

_“You think you can discard me that easily?" He spoke with a low growl. As Vados tried to take him by the arm, he leapt through the air toward the God of Destruction. "Think again, you rat bastard!”_

_“I told you to leave.” Champa swiped at Frost with his thick black claws. They harshly raked through his face, leaving thick bleeding gashes behind._

_The Arcosian fell limply to the ground, eye now flooded with a wave of fresh, running blood. He managed to raise his hand to his face, causing it to be enveloped in the sticky fluid. His heart had begun to race and his breathing became faster and more unsteady._

_“Vados, remove this monster from my presence at once! Leave him on that dreaded rain planet to die.”_

_The angel’s surprisingly mellow and dismissive reply of “Of course, my lord.” was the last thing heard before Frost’s consciousness faded away._

* * *

“The gashes seem pretty thick. I don’t know what creature could have made those. You want to tell me how you got those, Frost?" 

Frost did not speak, fearfully recalling his encounter with the God of Destruction. The only sound was his unsteady breathing.

"Frost?”

More silence followed. He was clearly insistent on not divulging any details.

“Fine. Don’t tell me.” Hit continued applying the medicine. The room was brought into near silence, only being broken by the wall clock's slow ticking and the Ice Demon's out-of-pace breaths. The assassin was unnerved by each individual change in breathing rhythm, but he tried not to make it obvious. Frost was clearly shaken up and his breathing would readjust. 

The assassin suddenly paused. A reason for Frost's state came to Hit's mind. It made sense in context. He had overheard the Ice Demon trying to make an agreement with Champa before the tournament a few weeks ago. Not to mention, the bloodied markings on his face seemed thick enough to come from the Anubis god's equally thick onyx claws. 

“You tried asking the God of Destruction to pardon you, didn’t you?”

Frost finally sighed. “Fine, you got me.” He hesitantly admitted. “I thought it would work, but the bastard discarded me, my rage got the best of me and, as you can obviously tell..." He grumbled. "Things didn't go so smoothly."

“Well, what matters is that you’re safe now. He can't hurt you here, and I sure as _hell_ won't let anyone else.”

Frost’s irises darted to the side with a scoff. “Hmph, good luck with that...” However, despite his cold and aloof dismissal of him, for once, Hit finally saw Frost manage some semblance of a smile…

…and he also saw a glimpse of his winced left eye, trying its hardest to peer out through the bloody scars and meet his gaze with one that was hoping he was telling the truth.


	2. Reminders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frost and Cabba are reminded of the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Name Puns for New Saiyans OCs:
> 
> Brusselle- Brussel Sprouts
> 
> Fennel- The herb of the same name

_ Everything was falling into place. _

_ Frost had been in this business for a few years now and he was no amateur when it came to premeditated attacks. His task was to have his band of pirates ravage these lands and sell the battlegrounds for profit, or so his father had told him some time ago.  _

_ If he were to be honest with himself, the Ice Demon had grown tired of the same old routine. He needed more spice in his acts of faked heroism. He became more than a fighter. He was a jack of all trades. _

_ He was a liberator. He was a negotiator. He was so much more. _

_ It earned him the fame many dreamed of. He had everything and he was not set on losing it.  _

_ His next assignment was the Planet Mayonnai, a planet that seemed to be known for just about nothing. It seemed like a lost cause, something not worth his time and effort... _

_ Until a certain fighting force caught his attention. _

_ He hoped he could complete this mission on his own, but, alas, another set of vigilantes had caught wind of the rumor of an attack and had joined the fray. This band of interference was none other than the Sadalan Saiyan Defense Force.  _

_ The Saiyan race was one of warriors with spiky hair and their battle prowess was desired by many. As such, planets nearly begged to become protectorates of Planet Sadala and Frost realized that Mayonnai must be one of them. _

_ Thankfully, only a small pack had been sent to this planet. Three to be exact.  _

_ The first was the least bit noteworthy. He had rather ordinary spiked locks and some dark colored clothing beneath his iron armor. His name could not be remembered, as it seemed unnecessary to do so.  _

_ Number two was a surprising addition to the fray. Normally the defense force was composed of male members, but this particular Saiyan sporting gecko green and soft rose colors was a she. She had a dainty build common in female humanoids, but her face told the vigilante that she was no amateur when it came to combat. Her hair was wild and spiky. Despite the locks being pulled back into a bun by a bronze clasp, the whole composition of hair seemed unkempt and pointed in different directions. She seemed about ready to decimate the first person who looked at her the wrong way... and this was assuming she was not at a current point in the month.  _

_ However, neither of the first two had as lasting of an impact as the third. _

_ This Saiyan was dressed in brilliant blue and lavender and had a few golden accents on his uniform. His spiky hair appeared silky in the sunshine, as if recently washed. His complexion was a soft pale and Frost noted how his eyes appeared as perfect drops of black ink as they briefly locked with his rose red ones. Though the crossing of gazes lasted no more than a second, the Arcosian was sure this one was aware of his presence.  _

_ The young man in blue seemed to be around his own age and the youngest of the bunch. He was Frost's personal favorite in the trio, mainly because he was the only one he had encountered outside of this excursion. _

_ The lovely Saiyan went by the name of Cabba.  _

_ After noticing an unknown presence, Cabba directed for the attention of the senior officer female. "Miss Brusselle, ma'am. After a brief surveillance of the area, it seems we are not alone." _

_ The female Saiyan, named Brusselle, simply grunted in response. "Yeah, I see 'im. Seems like a filthy little scoundrel there." She gave a brief spit off to the side. "That's probably one of those ruffians we're supposed to kick in the ass." _

_ Overhearing the murmur amongst the two, Frost deemed the opportunity as his cue to leave the secluded shadows. His footsteps echoed through the alley as he returned to the sunlight. He let out a slight and light-hearted chuckle. "My, my, if it isn't the Sadalan Defense Force..." _

_ "You think you can intimidate us with your theater play, you cocky little ruffian?" Brusselle scoffed, not missing a beat. "Well, you're going to regret screwing with us." _

_ "Oh, I'm afraid that is not the case, mademoiselle Saiyan, for I am no mere-" _

_ Without so much as a warning, Brusselle's mood swiftly soured, her boot dragging through the Mayonnai soil. "Well, if that's how you wanna to play it…" She began to charge with the speed of a bull after a red scarf. "Then, let's play!" The Saiyan, once thoroughly powered up, lept from the ground and prepared a mid-air kick. _

_ Frost and Cabba's eyes both widened in shock. However, the Saiyan's gaze was filled with a hint of realization. _

_ "Brusselle, wait!" _

_ The female Saiyan suddenly stumbled, nearly losing her balance, but managing to land on her feet. "What the heck, Cabba?! You'd better have a good reason for stopping me. I was about to kick this asshole to the curb!" _

_ "Ma'am, this man is innocent! He's no criminal, he's a vigilante like us!" _

_ "How are you so sure, Cabba?" Brusselle did not seem convinced.  _

_ "I've seen this man in all of my magazines! It's the planetary hero, Frost. Haven't you heard of him?" _

_ Frost gave a slight bow in response. "It seems my reputation precedes me~" _

_ Brusselle's eyes went wide at hearing this. "You mean… it's really-" Her serious tone turned to one of whimpering. "I'm very sorry, sir! Very, very sorry!" She apologized profusely, her tough woman facade vanishing instantly. _

_ "Ah, no worries, my dear. You merely responded on instinct." The Ice Demon's attention switched to Cabba. "You probably would have gone too far over the line if it weren't for this attentive and handsome young lad here." _

_ Cabba's once pale complexion soon filled with sudden color. A flash of rosy pink spread over his cheeks. He tried to avoid showing his flushed face by lowering his head, clearly embarrassed. "Well, I-" The Saiyan stuttered. "I couldn’t help but recognize you, sir. You've been my inspiration for all of these years." _

_ “Oh, no need for flattery.” Frost responded. “I am merely a simple young man on a conquest for justice. Is it not the duty of any citizen to ensure the safety of the universe they call home?” _

_ “Yeah,” Cabba’s foot dragged against the ground. “That’s sort of what drew me to the profession. Well, that and the thrill of reading about your heroic exploits in magazines.” _

_ “Oh, fans like you are always a treat. It’s quite a pleasure to meet you-” He hesitated for a second. “Cabba, was it?” _

_ The Saiyan nodded, holding out his hand. “Yeah, I’m really glad to have met you, too…” He flinched as Frost took his hand.  _

_ The union of hands lasted uncomfortably long from that point onward. It was met with an eerie silence that neither of them could escape. Despite the confident smile of reassurance he wore, Cabba’s knees were shaking out of anxiety. Frost tried to maintain his welcoming smile to hide his worry, but both emotions were visible in his expression.  _

_ “Sooo…” The Arcosian’s voice dwindled as his fingers slowly attempted to slide out from Cabba’s. His eyes darted to all angles, hoping the planetary attack would start anytime now. “It’s been a pleasure…” _

_ The Saiyan felt the fingers slipping away and snapped back into reality. “Oh! Um… sorry for… holding on so long.” He released Frost’s hand as his face burned pink with embarrassment, letting out a brief under the breath curse. “I’m guessing we should prepare for the space pirates to show their faces, huh?” _

_ “I suppose you’d be correct on that note~ If my prediction is correct, they should appear at around…” The lizard’s ruby red irises once again flicked around in search of clues of anything starting up soon. Had his men lost their sense of punctuality or-? _

_ The darting of eyes paused when they locked onto one of the lone space pirates. He had a wrist blaster that was of a rather flimsy older model, purposefully chosen to give Frost a tactical advantage in the staged conflicts. Frost noticed where the weapon was aimed and saw the sight directed right at Cabba’s backside. His irises seemed to shrink.  _

_ Things were right on schedule. _

_ “Cabba! Duck!” The Arcosian called out. In a rushed panic, Cabba folded himself into a crouch to dodge the fire and Frost performed an agile leap into the heart of combat. _

_ The air felt misty around the Ice Demon’s body, his actions fueled by pure adrenaline alone. He was enveloped in a cloak of energy, altering his body within. As his feet touched the ground, his clouding aura finally faded away, allowing his change in form to be revealed. _

_ This form was more armored and was designed for occasions such as these. It differed from the first in many ways: the elongated skull, the broad shoulder plates, and the assortment of intermittent thorns to catch any stealthy attacker off guard. This combat-focused transformation was known by many as the Assault Form. _

_ It was rare to see the Assault Form in action, as few stuck around when attackers arrived. The few who managed to get action shots would often shake out of focus or get their cameras destroyed by cross-fire. He would often transform outside of battle on purpose for the sake of publicity, but few were able to take in the combat style he used with it.  _

_ The mist lingering in the air dissipated as Frost brushed the dust off his arm. The blast had entered the Arcosian’s general radius, but the sheer might of the aura appeared to cancel it out.  _

_ “Well, well. A valiant effort, sir.” He raised his fingers, positioning them in the form of a double-barreled finger gun. “Sadly, in vain.” The Ice Demon taunted. Ruby red energy culminated at his fingertips in a small bead before the light flew forward in a laser beam of his own. It was against his morals to maim, so he purposefully aimed for the shoulder, leaving the grunt in overwhelming pain, but narrowly missing the heart.  _

_ Reduced to a hunched over shell of what he used to be, the minion slowly struggled to escape on his knees.  _

_ Cabba finally rose from his crouch position and turned to face his newfound companion. Noting the Assault Form before him, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Sir… That was amazing. I can’t believe that I’m finally seeing this form in person. Your fighting style is even more lifelike up clo-” He was interrupted by his own nose twitching, trace amounts of blood streaming out and towards his lip. His vision directed swiftly to his nosebleed. “Ah, shoot!” He started to frantically dig through his uniform pocket for a handkerchief. He was silently cursing under his breath. _

_ “Oh,” Frost’s voice nervously wavered. “I’m very sorry, my dear sir. I didn’t mean to strike you.” He approached the Saiyan in an attempt to offer assistance. _

_ “No, that’s alright.” He finally retrieved a plain white handkerchief. “It’s probably just dry out here. I’m fine.” _

_ “Well, if you’re fine,” Bruselle retorted. “Then, you’ll have no problem helping us with the grunts, got it?” _

_ “Right, m’am!” Cabba nodded, as he confidently wiped the blood away and entered his battle stance. Frost soon followed afterward. _

* * *

The planet Daitoshi was known for many things. It was known for its waves of crime, its public venues for drinking, gambling and everything in between, and, most of all, its constant rain. 

When someone mentioned the metropolis planet, sunshine never came to mind.

However, a reprieve from the storms was not impossible on the planet, even if it was very minor. The sky always remained overflowing with gloomy and dismal gray clouds, but the breaks between periods of inclement weather seemed like miracles. No bitter cold raindrops fell down upon the city and there was a remote chance that a thin beam of sunshine would peek in through a crack in the cloud cover. 

To his delight, a certain lizard was able to bear witness to one of Daitoshi's many rare events.

Frost's eyes- or, rather, his right eye- slowly strained open to the blinding stream of sunlight pointed directly in his path of limited vision. The ray was harsh and unexpected, and its brightness did not help ease his damaged eyesight predicament. 

Despite the sunbeam's startling nature, it was still pouring in through the window, straight from the long hidden sun, the fiery ball of gas that warmed planets across the galaxy- and, today, it would warm his scales.

After months of being on the run, Frost's body had grown cold from constant time on the storm planet. Multiple times he considered migrating to another planet, but he lacked the transportation and was already adapting to Daitoshi's hidden nooks and crannies. 

The sunshine had finally shown itself and it was revitalizing. It was the natural heat he had strived for that could not be replicated by the building's heating system. He couldn't help but inch forward, further into the light beam's path. He did not care if he would be nearly falling off of the arm of the leather sofa. All he was concerned with was reclaiming the sunlight he had long been without. 

Frost had inched himself to the point where his feet were the only things keeping him anchored to the couch. His body dipped down, much like a feline stretching its aching paws, and his pleasure with the sunshine almost made him purr like one. Now that he had settled, he could finally rest again. The Ice Demon closed his eyes again, basking in the warmth.

Soon, his peaceful slumber was disturbed by a nearby presence. His eyesight had been limited by the claw wounds adorning the area around his left eye, but his hearing was still as sharp as ever. He could pinpoint even the slightest footsteps. In this particular case, it was the miniscule patter of wool socks against carpeting. 

The lizard groaned a bit, but he chose not to awaken. It was only Hit, the assassin who had yet again retrieved him from the alleyways. Frost could not understand the hitman's sudden need to help him. He was one of the universe's most notorious villains. Hell, the assassin would have been likely to receive the contract to assassinate him in the coming weeks. This wave of hospitality confused him to no end. 

The sounds of Hit's near-silent footsteps suddenly disappeared and the warmth of the sun vanished with them. This change was accompanied by the soft sound of something shifting. Deprived of sunshine, Frost's eyes slunk open. The assassin had already stepped over to the other side of the window, which now had its blinds shut, creating a barrier that the sunlight could not penetrate. 

"Ah, piss off, Hit..." Frost growled, finally lifting his head.

The assassin's ruby red gaze met Frost's. "Well, excuse me for trying to ensure your safety." There was no sympathy in his narrowed eyes. 

Hit seemed already prepared to leave for his assassination job. He was dressed in his usual attire, minus the coattails and tall boots. Frost had learned that the coattails were purely decorative and detached when necessary, but it had been unnerving when the lizard first saw Hit without his boots on. He had become familiar with the assassin's trademark boots and he had seen them on him constantly, leading him to assume they were permanently affixed to him or his legs ended in stubs like a fashion doll's. Sure enough, Hit did in fact have feet, which, according to the shaping of his socks, narrowed down to a single point at the end, much like Frost's triangular tipped boots.

"Hit, a small little stream of sunlight is not going to do any damage, even if it was  _ possible _ for me to get sunburnt."

"That's not what I'm getting at." Hit approached Frost, scooping him up by the stomach and setting him back onto the couch on his back. "You're staying here in  _ my  _ home while I'm working. People are going to get awfully suspicious if they see you, a wanted criminal, taking refuge in an assassin's apartment suite." 

Frost was about to protest, claiming that no one would see him from a fifth story window, but he knew Hit would have some sort of excuse, such as some residents' ability to fly or the building across the alley. He dropped his objections, setting his hands behind his head. "Fine, then... I'll acquiesce, even though harboring me here was  _ your  _ idea."

The assassin nodded, brushing off the Ice Demon's last snarky comment. "Alright. Unless I get an assignment, I'll be back at four. I left a bento out for you on the coffee table. I'll buy some supplies for your gashes on my way home. The wounds are going to keep trying to reopen and I don't have enough material on me to accommodate constantly changing bloodied bandages." He approached the door and unfolded the coattails he left on the other arm of the sofa, fastening them on at the belt. As he picked up his boots from their position near the door, he paused for a moment. "Oh, and one last thing."

Frost, who was nearly drifting off through all of the details, directed his attention back to the assassin. "Hmm?"

"I don't know a lot about the biology of your species, but is that little jewel on your head  _ supposed  _ to be warmer than the rest of your body? It felt quite warm to the touch last night."

"Wait, you felt my body while I was sleeping?!" The lizard jolted upright. 

"Only to see if your body temperature was alright and to check on your pulse. Nothing too invasive. Just answer the question, please. Yes or no?"

"Um, no, that's not supposed to happen." He seemed to divert his eyes from the assassin, whose own eyes narrowed in response. 

"And does it still feel rather warm now?"

Frost felt the smooth surface of his head jewel, making sure to avoid running his fingers through the bloody wounds on the left side. "I-I guess so?"

"Oh, great. Just peachy." Hit sighed under his breath. He set down the boots and headed down the hall towards the bathroom. From what Frost could hear of the situation, Hit grabbed some items from the closet and ran a bit of water from the sink. When the assassin returned, he had a damp washcloth draped over his arm, a clear plastic cup of tap water in one hand, and a small capsule pill between the fingers of the other. 

"As if the wounds Champa gave you weren't enough, you just  _ had  _ to have a fever too. I didn't bring it up last night because it has probably been a while since you've gotten a proper night's rest." Hit held out his right hand, which had the small capsule of medication in it. "Take it." He commanded.

Due to the size of the medication and his impaired vision, Frost took a few seconds to process what exactly Hit was offering before finally taking and swallowing it. The assassin followed up by handing him the cup of water. Afterward, he removed the washcloth from his arm. It had been folded in half to reduce its size. In an attempt to not disturb Frost, Hit slowly set the damp cloth on the Ice Demon's forehead...

...which was apparently not slow enough. 

The lizard jumped at the application of the cold towel, causing some of the water in the cup he was drinking from to lightly splash on his face.

"Oh, did I make it too cold?"

"No, just caught me by surprise." Frost wiped the water off of his face with his arm. 

"Good. Now, get some rest. I'll try to be back around four o'clock or four fifteen." Hit stood up again, returning to where he set his boots. He finally put them on his feet and clicked the snaps closed tightly. "And if you've come down with something else by the time I get back, I'll kill you." As the assassin left, he turned down the room's dimmer switch to a medium setting, dark enough to give the impression that no one was home, but light enough for the impaired Ice Demon to process his surroundings, and closed the door behind him. 

With the assassin gone, there was silence and Frost could be alone with himself. He tried to smile at the most likely sarcastic threat, though it was hard to distinguish sarcasm involving death with the stone-cold assassin. With a sigh, he slowly closed his eyes again, trying to return to the pleasant recollection he was having earlier. 

_ What was I thinking about again?  _ The lizard asked himself, as he silently pondered the answer. 

His tail began to swish back and forth joyfully, as he remembered.  _ Oh, yes, that's right. That delightful excursion on Mayonnai~ I met that Saiyan, Cabba, there.  _

A record scratched in Frost's mind.  _ What am I saying... 'That Saiyan'? He wasn't a face in the crowd. He was my friend. _

He sighed, recalling his past with the Saiyan. There were many interspersed chance encounters and Frost was remembering each individual little greeting of "Hey, sir!" or "Nice to see you again!", which slowly got more confident and less shaky over time. As Cabba got more comfortable around Frost, he would stop him after missions and talk about his day. By how passionately he talked, the Ice Demon worried that the Saiyan did not have someone else to talk to.

Those were the glory days, back when he hid behind his facade. Frost had wished he could have found a way to hang out with his friend again, even with the dilemma of him being ratted out. In fact, they were perfectly capable of going further in their relationship. But, why didn't they?

Suddenly, the realization struck Frost like a cutting blade. He remembered the events of the day he let his true colors show. Cabba was at that tournament. He was protesting against the harmful remarks, even trying to defend his cheating. Eventually, the Saiyan's arguments failed him and he had to painfully accept the truth. 

Frost's eyes widened, the right more so than the left.  _ I was the one who broke that poor Saiyan's heart.  _

He sighed and tried to forget the pain. It was too much to bear and he feared the impact of his actions.

He feared that Cabba no longer remembered him as fondly as he remembered him. 

* * *

After his bravery to fight for the universe, though in vain, during the Tournament of Power, the captain of the Sadalan Defense Force had decided that Cabba had earned a well-deserved break. While the Saiyan had gotten used to the comforts of the beds at the base, he still missed the plush feel of his bedsheets at home. 

However, his time at home felt like it was missing something. There was nothing to do. There were no mission preparations or missions in general. He even longed for the small tasks around the base like cooking and cleaning. He'd already cleaned the house several times, even when it didn't need to be cleaned, and his father told him not to worry about the cooking and to enjoy his time off. It bothered him to say the least. 

Cabba tried to occupy himself with a simple game, comprised of bouncing a small ball against the ceiling of his bedroom and seeing if he could keep catching it in his hand every time. The ability to call this activity a game was debatable. He did not keep score of how many times he caught it and there was no winning or losing. The game would be over when he decided to stop.

The thumping of the ball against the ceiling panel almost made Cabba miss the small knocking at the door. 

The knock was faint and the Saiyan almost thought he was hearing things. He simply shrugged and tossed the ball up again, continuing his pattern. The accompanying knocking sound disappeared leaving only the sound of the thumping bounce. The next sound that came was a familiar and timid voice.

"Sis, he's not answering. Do you think he's not home?" 

Cabba stopped bouncing the ball and rose from his bed. If the voice was who he thought it was, he could no doubt guess the next voice he would hear.

Sure enough a rather confident female voice responded afterward. "Kale, of course he's home! You just didn't knock loud enough."

_ Ah geez, Caulifla found me!  _ He silently cursed, as he braced himself for what came next. 

More knocking, this time at a much louder volume, more akin to banging, was heard at the door. "Cabba! Open the fu-"

The timid voice, belonging to Kale, made a throat clearing sound, causing Caulifla to sigh.

"- _ Freaking  _ door!" She corrected herself. 

The sound of Caulifla's anger caused him to panic. Dropping the small ball, he hustled out of his room and towards the front door. He had learned to never leave a lady waiting, especially if that lady was Caulifla. 

However, when he arrived at the entry hall, a younger Saiyan was already at the door, using a stool to peep through the window at the top at the Saiyan girls outside. She donned a dark green sweater and a small goldenrod skirt. Her hair was wild and pointed in different directions, leading any non-Saiyan to believe it was an absolute rat's nest. That young girl was none other than Fennel, his younger sister.

Cabba was nine years her senior, but Fennel still acted like she owned the place and it was likely a dream come true for her when her older brother was out of the house. However, she was still a child and still did not know how to keep her nose out of other people's business. 

" _ Onii-chan! _ " Fennel called down the hall. "Your  _ girlfriends _ are here!" She was smiling innocently as if she was doing nothing wrong, but the eight-year-old knew all too well how to get Cabba flustered. 

The older Saiyan went pink in the face and grabbed a now laughing Fennel off of her wooden stool. "Fen-Fen, please. I've already told you that Caulifla and Kale are just my friends. I’m allowed to have friends of the opposite sex that I’m not dating." He set his younger sister down and pushed the stool aside.

“Are you sure you don’t want to date at least one of them?” Fennel’s head turned to the side like a perplexed owl. “The quiet one’s really pretty and the loud one seems to really want to play with you.”

Face still flushed, Cabba gave a nervous swallow. It was likely that a child of his sister’s age meant actual childhood games when stating that Caulifla wanted to play with him. However, ever since the ‘girlfriend’ comment came out, it was difficult to retrieve his mind from the gutter. “Fen-Fen, what did Dad tell you about setting me up with people?” 

“Well, Daddy’s not here!” The tinier Saiyan crossed her arms. “And you’re just mad because I was spot on about that liz-”

Cabba’s silencing finger gravitated to Fennel’s lips. “I told you to stay quiet about that!” The older Saiyan was in a state of panic. “I don’t want Caulifla and Kale to hear about  _ that.  _ It’s embarrassing... Besides, I was younger then.”

“Not that much younger.” Fennel only blinked unconvinced.

“J-just…” Cabba sighed, face in his palm. “Just go play in your room and leave us be for the day. Please?”

“Okay!” The younger Saiyan excitedly chirped. For once, she was being agreeable… “I’ll leave you three to play!”

As Fennel ran down the hall laughing, Cabba opened the door to an impatient Caulifla and a worried Kale. "Sorry about that. A little bit of sibling trouble there. You guys can come in and stay awhile."

"Alright, then!" Caulifla smiled, cracking her knuckles. Kale followed her inside with hesitance, as if there was a looming threat inside the innocent home. 

"It's alright, Kale!" The Saiyan boy smiled to try to make his timid friend more comfortable. "No one's going to bite you."

"B-but..." Kale stuttered, eyes still pointed down. "Should we... at least take our shoes off first?"

"Go right ahead." Cabba motioned to the arrangement of shoes set out by the door, which included his own and Fennel's. Caulifla slipped hers off almost immediately and without a second's hesitation, while Kale slowly removed her boots. After removing their footwear, Cabba led the two girls to his bedroom.

While Cabba sat on the bed, Caulifla immediately slumped down on the floor and Kale scanned the area to find an appropriate place to seat herself. She noticed a smooth topped chest by the window and, as she prepared to sit down, her gaze darted to the Saiyan boy, as a wordless way of asking if it was okay.

"That's fine, Kale. There's nothing really important in there." Cabba assured her. Kale sighed as she sat down on top of the wooden chest, shortly before Caulifla interjected.

"Nothing important, you say?" Caulifla got a devious grin on her face. "So, there is  _ something  _ in there! Are you hiding something from us, Cabba?"

"Sis, please. Won't checking be an invasion of his privacy?" The younger of the two Saiyan girls near silently protested.

"Eh, it's not like it's his underwear drawer." The older Saiyan girl propelled herself upward. "Kale, stand up, I want to see."

"Caulifla, it's really not important." Cabba tried to stop her.

"Ha! You're getting defensive. It  _ must  _ be special! Come on, Kale! Stand up so I can look inside."

Kale gave a worried and apologetic look to Cabba before sighing and rising from the top of the chest. Caulifla rubbed her hands together gleefully with anticipation, as if the mystery of the wooden chest was an appetizing dinner placed before her. "Let's see what's inside!" 

She undid the clasps at each side and lifted the lid to find various reading materials, the most common type being several issues of many different magazines. There were strips of sticky notes stuck inside each one to serve as bookmarks for favorite articles. 

"Holy smokes! You've got the jackpot of magazines in here!" 

“Heh,” Cabba briefly scratched at the back of his head. “It’s what couldn’t fit on my shelves. I couldn’t think of what else to put in-” His train of thought ended as Caulifla picked one up and began to flip through it. 

The Saiyan boy tried to reach out and stop her. "Hey, careful! Those are in pristine condition."

"Relax, nerd. I'm not going to crease your pages!" She flipped through more pages. "Aren't these those little tabloid magazines they display at those hair salons in the cities?"

"Yes, they are." The Saiyan boy admitted, speaking fast. "Now, will you  _ please  _ put it back now?"

"In a minute. I want to see what's bookmarked here!" She turned through the magazine to one of the labelled pages, which caused Cabba to jolt upright. 

"Hey, wait! Don't look at that one!" He tried to stop Caulifla from flipping to the bookmarked page, but she turned to it anyway. 

The header of the article she turned to featured a rather young and handsome reptilian gentleman. He had blue and light gray features, as well as black diagonally pointed horns. His left eye was giving a playful wink. 

"Ooh~" Caulifla cooed. "Who's this hunk you've got bookmarked?" The Saiyan girl deviously teased.

Cabba averted his gaze as his face slowly turned pink. "Umm, no one...?"

Noticing Cabba's blush, Caulifla began to laugh like a giddy schoolgirl. "Ooh~ Looks like Cabba's got himself a crush!" She pointed to another magazine in the chest. "Kale, check the bookmark in that one!"

"Uh, okay." Kale picked up a magazine and gingerly opened it to the bookmarked page. Sure enough, the lizard was in that article as well. 

"Hey, hey! How much are you willing to bet he's in number three too?" Caulifla closed the magazine she was holding and began looking at the one her fellow Saiyan was browsing.

"Guys, please..." Cabba muttered under his breath.

"We're not going to stop until you tell us who your little  _ boyfriend  _ is!"

"It says in the article that his name is Frost and he's a planetary vigilante." Kale explained, skimming the article. 

"Wasn't that the lizard punk Hit wrangled up for the tournament?" Caulifla cocked her head, confused. "What happened to these horns he's got here?" She pointed to the picture of Frost on the side of the article. 

"I really like them. They're kind of pretty." The other Saiyan girl commented.

As they continued to chatter over Frost's first form, Cabba's face turned progressively more pink. He was silently cursing to himself. He had to remind himself over and over:

_ Frost was no good. He was evil and a traitor. He was over Frost and he didn't want anything to do with him. He couldn't trust him as far as he could be thrown. _

"Hey, Cabba, you know, I can see why you like this guy so much. He actually seems like a pretty nice guy."

Cabba could feel his anger start to boil inside him.  _ Frost... a nice guy?  _ The thought seemed ridiculous when considering what that  _ scoundrel _ had done and how everything he knew about the Ice Demon was a well-fabricated lie. He wasn't even sure if the time they spent together was in good intentions or also woven into his complicated ruse. He could hear his heart beating faster as the conversation between the two Saiyan girls continued.

They kept talking on and on about how admirable the ex-hero was, as Kale read the bookmarked articles detailing his latest "heroism" aloud. They seemed to be gushing over how amazing he sounded from his descriptions in the tabloid. They were falling in love with the fake Frost...

...exactly as he had.

Cabba's fingers anxiously curled. He couldn't stand to recount the lies he had fallen for and how his heart had been stomped on when the truth came out. He did not know how much longer he could stand this. 

Caulifla turned her head up again to ask another question. "Cabba, do you know if-"

Before Caulifla could finish, the Saiyan boy suddenly snapped. His fingers grasped the bedsheet beneath him to hold him back and his hair turned golden in a split second. "For the love of Champa, would you please just shut up about him?!" 

Kale jolted. She instinctively shut her magazine, grabbed Caulifla's, and put them back in the chest, slamming it shut without hesitation. Clearly fearful, she clung to Caulifla's arm like a magnet to a refrigerator. The normally confident Caulifla was wide-eyed and at a loss for words.

"Jeez, what the hell's your problem?" Caulifla retorted. Her voice sounded rather hushed compared to normal.

When the Saiyan caught his breath, the flushed color on his face slowly faded and the golden color of his transformed Super Saiyan locks dissipated. "Oh, I'm very sorry for lashing out. I didn't mean to startle you." Cabba apologized profusely. "It's just... things are complicated with him right now and I really don't want to talk about it. So, can we please talk about something else?"

Caulifla immediately balled up a fist and slammed it into her opposite palm. "What did that bastard do? Tell me and, next time I see him, just for you, I'll kick him right in his clo-"

"Caulifla, just drop it." Cabba interjected. As the words left his mouth, he realized he still wasn't still speaking rather loudly. It seemed more like Caulifla's idea of an indoor voice than his usual tone of voice. After taking a few breaths to calm himself, he started a new conversation at a reasonable volume. "So, what brought you guys over anyway?"

"Well," Caulifla propelled herself up onto the chest of magazines and Kale followed soon after. "Ever since that tournament, I've been itching for a chance to train again, especially to reach that form that Goku guy was talking about." She turned to her sisterly Saiyan. "What was it called again, Kale?"

"I think it was, uh... Super Saiyan Three, I think?" Kale hesitantly responded, as if she had just been put on the spot. 

Caulifla nodded. "Right. That one."

"If you're so excited about it, why did you wait over a week to actually start?" Cabba inquired, confused.

"Well, we started a while ago but, Kale started worrying about you." Caulifla started to mimic Kale's distinct speaking mannerisms. "'Oh, but poor Cabba. If we get too strong, he might fall behind. Oh no, his feelings!'"

Kale gave her a brief glare because of the impression, but returned to her usual timid expression when Caulifla looked over. 

"So, you came to see me to invite me to come training with you?"

"Yep." Caulifla nodded. "My brother overheard that you were given some vacation days because of the tournament, so I knew we couldn't pass this chance up! You in?"

Cabba responded without hesitation. "Of course! I've been waiting for something like this!" This was finally Cabba's chance. He had been waiting for excitement to return to his life and he had finally received it.

"Alright, then! Hope your vacation hasn't made you soft!" Caulifla balled a fist directed at Cabba. 

Out of fear of being socked by the overenthusiastic Saiyan girl, he jolted back, which was exactly what Caulifla was waiting for. "Ha! Two for flinching, sucker!" She laughed, giving Cabba two playful punches to the arm. Without a second thought, Caulifla darted out of the bedroom and towards the door. "Come on, slowpokes, let's go!"

Cabba and Kale exchanged worried glances and followed her. Caulifla had already slipped back into her slip-on flats and was eagerly waiting for the other two Saiyans to retrieve their footwear as well. "Alright, calm down, Caulifla. We're coming."

Kale quickly put her golden boots back on at Caulifla's insistence. As Cabba put on his shoes, he called down the hallway. "Fennel, come get your shoes, we're heading out!"

"Coming,  _ onii-chan _ !" Fennel called back.

"Oh, who's Fennel?" Kale asked.

"She's my little sister. She's not allowed to be home alone and our dad won't be home until later."

Caulifla sighed. "Aw, we have to take some little brat with us? I don’t want to have to tone things down to PG level."

"Sorry, it's not my rule. We can wait until he gets home if you want."

The older Saiyan girl rolled her eyes. "Fine, the brat can come along." Kale started giving a small excited clap.

"Just give me a second and we'll be ready to go." Cabba grabbed a fountain pen and notepad from a drawer in a nearby desk and scrawled a quick note about his whereabouts.

_ Dad, _

_ Went out training w/ Caulifla and Kale. Took Fennel along.  _

_ \- Cabba _

Setting down the pen, he smiled a bit. He was finally going to have an exciting day for once and perhaps this chance would give him an opportunity to forget the looming thoughts about  _ him _ .


	3. Evening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peaceful evening leads to an intriguing proposition.

According to the wall clock, it was now four o'clock PM in central Daitoshi. It had been about eight hours since Frost's day began and every single one of those hours was even more boring than the last. He had already wolfed down the entirety of the bento box Hit left out for him (fish, rice, and vegetables: his favorite combination) and had taken dozens of rest breaks to cool the mild fever the assassin was so worried about. Considering his species’s tendency for high body temperatures, he wasn’t even sure if it would qualify as a fever for him. Even so, he was now left with nothing else to do but wait for the assassin to get home.

If Hit's time estimate was correct, he should arrive back at the apartment at any second. Frost sat slumped on the leather sofa, awaiting the hitman's entry. He did not really mind Hit's presence, but he wasn't whimpering at the door for him to return like a sad puppy. He was only waiting for him to return so he could be provided with a meal and bandages for his scars. Frost was growing tired of having to sop up the blood that trickled down his face every few minutes or so.

The Ice Demon knew that Hit would walk through that door at any second now.

Any second now.

Nothing. He waited even more seconds. The seconds turned into minutes rather quickly. Where the hell was that assassin? He was pretty sure the assassin had said four o'clock. It was now approaching seven minutes after the hour. 

_ Maybe he said four fifteen.  _ Frost silently pondered.  _ He'd better have said four fifteen. He shouldn't be keeping me waiting like this.  _

He waited about ten more minutes. Four fifteen had already passed and there was no sign of Hit returning anytime soon. Numerous times there were false alarms where he heard pacing footsteps in the hallway, but they were merely those of neighboring tenants.

Four thirty came and passed, as did four forty and fifty. 

Frost was beginning to lose patience. How long was Hit going to be gone? Perhaps the apartment's clock was fast. Maybe Hit had an assassination mission to tend to at the moment. The injured Ice Demon sighed and finally rose from the sofa.

If Hit was out, he would just have to tend to himself for the time being. The reptilian slunk out of his seated position and toward the apartment's barren kitchen. The area seemed rather well-designed for its size, as far as Frost could see of it.

He shook his head, trying to stop himself from getting distracted. He needed to focus on one thing, and that was finding something to eat. 

Hit's refrigerator was made of a premium steel and the Ice Demon could see his reflection in the doors. Sure enough the claw marks over his eye were as unsightly as Hit made them out to be. The fridge even had an ice maker, if ice cubes were ever of interest to him. 

The inside seemed rather uninteresting. The majority of the food items inside were merely part of larger preparable meals. They ranged from fruits and vegetables to meats bought fresh from marketplaces. Hit seemed to not take shortcuts when it came to evening meals and his assassination missions probably gave him the finances necessary to treat himself nightly, though the theory seemed somewhat out of place with the simplicity of his living arrangements. As tempting as the contents were, Frost couldn't force himself to ruin the assassin's systematic planning.

However, near the bottom, there seemed to be some items still in their plastic store bags. It seemed strange of the methodical hitman to not unpack all of his groceries. Perhaps it was a space concern. Despite this, the mystery of the disclosing grocery bags still intrigued him, so he peeped into the only bag that was open to find...

The absolute jackpot of bento boxes?

There was an assortment of different types of cold meals, prearranged and packaged at a local vendor. Each had a different combination of contents. There were different types of fish and vegetables. Some packages had seaweed wraps and some had brown rice rather than white. It seemed unusual. Why would Hit be so set on buying and partaking in these bento meals over and over again? With the sheer amount of the compact meals, Frost figured Hit would not miss one if it went missing. He shrugged and grabbed one for himself, closing the fridge behind him.

As the door closed, he noticed an object fluttering. Upon further inspection, he noticed it was a paper receipt of decent length partially secured to the door with a magnet. Sure enough, it was an ordinary receipt, each listing being a different type of bento box like the ones he had come across earlier. However, what alarmed him was not the contents of the list, but the circled note beneath. 

It was written in black fountain pen and was far too fancy and flourishing to be anyone's handwriting but Hit's. He struggled to read the assassin's unusual form of penmanship, but he finally deduced the brief notice's meaning.

_ For 'F' _

_ x30 _

_ Buy more on: _

The note ended with a listing of a date that was likely about twenty-nine days from the current date. The writing felt eerie, as Frost was sure who 'F' was referring to. 

He swallowed nervously. Sure, it was likely the assassin keeping an eye out for him, but the thought of how long Hit intended to keep him here was unnerving. His stay was not limited by the amount of bento boxes in the fridge, as the hitman seemed to be trying to keep him stocked up on the conveniently packed meals, possibly indefinitely.

Wasn't Hit planning to release him once he recovered? The whole situation started feeling less like temporary housing and more like a hostage situation.

As he pondered to himself, he suddenly heard some clicking and the sound of the doorknob jiggling. The assassin was finally home.

_ Damn it,  _ Frost cursed to himself.  _ I can't let him know I was snooping. _

The Ice Demon set the bento box down and hustled over to the couch, trying to return to his original position to avoid arousing suspicion.

The door clicked open as Hit entered the apartment and nudged the dimmer switch back to its normal lighting with his elbow. He returned his key to his pocket and carried in two bags. One was rather ordinary and made of plastic, most likely from a drug store of sorts, while the other had an unusually designer appearance and seemed to be made of fancy glossed paper, much like those found in a department store. "I'm back." The assassin sighed. His eyes turned to notice Frost. "And you look... comfortable."

Frost had been in a rush, since the door was likely to open at any second. The position he managed had him slumped over the couch, his feet meeting the top. The rest of his body sloped downward onto the leather cushion. He scoffed, trying to brush off the awkwardness of the current situation. "Enough about me.  _ You  _ are very late, sir."

"Cool it, Frost. I was only gone for an hour later than usual." He set down the two bags next to the sofa. "Also, didn't I tell you that I'd be back later if I had an assignment?"

"Well, did you?" The Ice Demon curiously purred, as he settled into a more comfortable position.

Hit averted his gaze. "Not in the afternoon." He muttered under his breath.

Frost gave a small laugh. "Can't weasel your way out now, can you?"

"Now, are we going to fight like an old married couple or are we going to do something about your eye?" The assassin grumbled.

"I could honestly go either way~" The Ice Demon teased.

"Well, I'd honestly prefer the latter. The wounds are still opening and bleeding, but, soon, it's going to turn into an infection and I've already dealt with enough medical issues in the last twenty-four hours."

"Then, do what you must, dear assassin~" He sat up rather still, knowing Hit would request it anyway. "Work that little medical magic of yours, if you would."

"Would you like to freshen up first?" The assassin inquired. "It would help clean up some of the blood residue dribbling down your face and get rid of the scent. Fresh blood has a rather potent aroma. That mixed with the grungy fragrance you picked up from your time running and anyone could mistake you for a walking cadaver."

"Oh, you don't need to go that far, but I'll take you up on your offer."

"Will you be fine standing in the shower?"

Frost rolled his one undamaged eye. "My eye is busted up, not my legs."

"Answer the question, please."

"I'll be fine." The Ice Demon responded.

"Are you absolutely sure? I don't want to add to your injury count."

"I'm really sure." Frost reassured him. "I don't need you to wash me or anything.

"Oh, I wasn't planning on washing you if you couldn't stand. I was planning on setting you out in the rain and seeing what happened." Hit passive-aggressively shrugged.

The Ice Demon let out a nervous squeak. "T-That really isn't necessary. I'll be heading off now." He quickly kicked the boots off of his feet, still sore from his constant time running, and began to scurry off.

"Wait a second," Hit stopped him. He quickly grabbed the dried and discarded washcloth that was previously on the Ice Demon's forehead. He handed it to Frost before he got too far. "Hold this. I don't want you to bleed on my carpet." 

Frost sighed. "Fine," He placed the washcloth over his wounds. "I won't stain your  _ precious carpet _ ."

"The bathroom is down the hall to the left." Hit sighed as he individually removed the contents of the plastic bag and set them on the coffee table. "And  _ try  _ to tone down the snarkiness, please.”

* * *

Frost was rather thankful that he had chosen to take Hit up on his offer. The warmth of the shower water had been rather comforting. Initially, it reminded him of the harsh patter of Daitoshi's rain storms, but without the freezing temperature. 

It was the first time in a while that his body actually felt... good.

After a length of time he deemed sufficient, he turned off the water and dried his scales. He then slipped back into his usual dark gray leggings to cover his lower half, which was, much like his arms, a dark azure contrasting from the rest of his pale blue scales. The legwear was mainly for comfort and formality, as Ice Demons had nothing truly private to hide down below unless they were mating.

The mirror was fogged up from the heat, but Frost was sure Hit wouldn't mind it. However, he still chose to wipe away part of it. He needed the chance to look himself over. 

Sure enough, the scars were still bright red and ridden with blood, but there was nothing bleeding out beyond them. It was difficult to look at in more ways than one. It did appear rather grotesque, but his dwindling vision on the left side required a constant struggle for focus. He could see his eye being slowly tinted reddish-pink beneath the mist from a combination of blood and irritation. He winced at the sight initially, but then he simply shrugged it off. In a few minutes, his worries would decrease.

Frost slowly exited, only to find that Hit was no longer waiting at the ready near the couch to tend to his injuries. In fact, he didn't know where the assassin had gone off to. He crept farther down the hallway to see if his eyesight was playing tricks on him yet again. He did not see him as he got closer, but he did hear the assassin muttering something seemingly to himself. 

"Yes, I know it seems important, but you really shouldn't be calling me at home."

_ Oh, he seems to be in the middle of some sort of call,  _ Frost deduced.  _ Perhaps a business related matter. _

He peered around the corner to see Hit in the kitchen with a flat-designed cell phone to his ear. The assassin must have changed clothes in his bedroom while Frost was showering, as, rather than his usual uniform, he donned a rather ordinary grayish-green shirt, and dark pants. He had traded his work boots in favor of his dark gray wool socks. The Ice Demon had yet to see a casually dressed Hit, and it felt unnerving to see it now. This was the man who once struck fear into his heart and now he looked like he wouldn't dare hurt a fly... or would at least hesitate before doing so. 

During the pause in dialogue on Hit's end, he could faintly hear a worried voice. It almost sounded like... a  _ woman _ ?!

"I see. I still find it odd that they called so late after business hours. Did they give a time limit? Because, if they say by tomorrow, I'm not taking it. They should have known to call earlier, plus I have that guest I was telling you about that I need to attend to." He sighed. "Get the caller ID, call them back, and tell them to come to the office the next day or meet at some sort of rendezvous point." 

The woman's voice on the other end gave a stuttering reply. 

"Oh," Hit's eyes briefly widened. "They’re somewhat shy? I get that. I’m no stranger to shy clientele. I have been called rather intimidating. Did you manage to get any info from them when they called?"

Frost could guess that the woman began to rattle off details because Hit grabbed a notepad and black ink pen from the counter in the middle of the kitchen. He held his phone up with his shoulder. The assassin made note of the woman's recounting of the information given. Every so often, he responded with a mellow "mm-hm" or a straightforward "I see". 

When Hit finally finished, he relayed the details he was given. "So, we have the assignment for the assassination of one Lord Shiver, a male Ice Demon crime boss. No urgent time limit given..."

Frost mentally tuned out the rest of the assassin's recounting, as something struck his mind in that instant.  _ Wait, I recognized that name right there.  _ He thought to himself.  _ But, from where? Hmm...  _ The Ice Demon started repeating the name to see if anything came to light.  _ Huh. Shiver. Lord Shiver... Where have I heard of a Lord Shi- _

The realization sent a slight jolt up his spine. His eyes widened, the undamaged one more so than the other.  _ No, it couldn’t be. _ "Father?!" The moment he realized he spoke that line out loud, he slapped both hands over his mouth. He could only hope Hit hadn't heard. He was already on thin ice with the assassin, but if he knew he was the son of his next villainous target- 

He shook it off as his mind returned to the ongoing dialogue. 

"Okay, and to conclude, the client is going under the alias of 'R' for simplicity and disclosure, am I correct on that?"

The woman on the other end of the call gave a quick response. 

"I'm going to guess that's the letter they're referring to and not the word." He set down the pen and pad. "Alright then, I'll look into this man in the morning before work. Now, I'd better not keep that  _ guest _ of mine waiting." He let out a soft chuckle. "Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow, Frigie. Have a nice evening." He ended the phone call and set the cell down on the counter. 

"Soo~" Frost curiously cooed, slinking around the corner. "Who's Frigie?"

"Oh." Hit jolted, his eyes going wider than before as his rose-red irises darted towards the Ice Demon that entered. "I-I thought you'd be in the shower longer..."

"I was in there for a rather sufficient amount of time, Hit. Were you planning on doing something  _ private _ ?" There was a devious look in Frost's eye.

"No," The assassin responded bluntly as his eyes returned to normal size. "What kind of man do you think I am?"

"The kind of man who didn't answer my first question~" The Ice Demon teased. He still had a devilish grin on his face. "Tell me who that was, Hit, if you please."

Hit sighed, his face slightly burning with a violet blush. "It's not that important, Frost. Frigid is just my assistant over at the office. She handles business calls when I'm out on assignments and some of the extra work like closing up and such." He folded his arms. "She's a trusted coworker, and we're nothing more than friends."

Frost broke into his unforgiving laughter. "Oh, Hit, that's your most pathetic excuse yet!"

"E-excuse me?" The assassin stuttered, which was a rare occurrence for a man of Hit's nature.

"You're trying to play the old 'just friends' card to cover up your little  _ girlfriend _ ." He smiled as Hit averted his gaze.

"She's not my gi-" He cut himself off, noting the hostility that began to form in his voice. "What makes you say that?" He more rationally responded.

"Well, first of all," Frost's devious look did not dwindle. "That blush spreading across your face is pretty hard to ignore." Hit simply grunted, the purple tint not fading.

"Second, you're being awfully defensive on the matter. Not to mention the whole cherry on top of this..." The Ice Demon yet again let out a soft chuckle. "A mere coworker pair would not be exchanging pet names amongst each other unless there was something going on... under the table, so to speak." He made a small ring shape with one hand and began sliding a finger from the other hand in and out of the formed circle. “ _ Wink, wink? _ ”

"There’s nothing going on under the table..." He explained as he set a hand on Frost's jewel shoulder, which caused him to drop his gesture. "I use that pet name with her for a reason. When I first met her, Frigid- she was in a difficult spot to put it lightly. From what she was willing to tell me, her past lover was a regrettable man who made some terrible decisions. It was no wonder she made her choice to run, even to such a planet as this. She had been in a dry spell of affection, so she asked me to use that name with her. I acquiesced to help her feel comfortable. Now, it just feels natural."

"Oh, I bet she makes you feel  _ really  _ comfortable~" Frost muttered under his breath, not making eye contact with the assassin. 

Hit's eyes lowered. “Drop the jokes please. I am being absolutely serious when I say there’s nothing going on between us." The assassin grabbed him by the tail and dragged him into the living area to treat the wounds on his face. “So, let’s just quit the chatter and get this over with…”

* * *

An array of medical supplies was laid out on the coffee table. Hit sat Frost down on the leather couch's middle seat in preparation. However, in his case, he sat in front of the Ice Demon's seat on his knees. He felt Frost's forehead to see if the fever from earlier had gone down. The assassin jolted in response to the unexpected heat. "Damn, that's practically burning!"

"I had checked before I showered and things seemed to have cooled down significantly." Frost shrugged. "I don't see why you'd still feel a fever."

"Hmm," The hitman murmured as he felt around the rest of his face, fearful that checking lower down would result in an angry and defensive reaction. Sure enough, he felt the same level of heat. "Frost, out of curiosity, how hot was that shower you took?” 

The Ice Demon refused to look him in the eye. "Umm, pretty hot, I'd say."

"How do you feel comfortable with a temperature that high?" Hit looked astonished.

"My species may be called Ice Demons, but we're all about the heat. Our bodies are built for high temperatures, so that's why we react so strongly to the cold."

"Well, there go my chances of possibly taking a  _ remotely  _ warm shower tonight." The assassin muttered under his breath before returning to his normal tone of voice. "But anyways, to start, I'll need to apply more of that antiseptic, so try to hold still." Hit explained.

Frost rolled his eye. "Can you try to be a little more  _ gentle  _ this time?"

"It only hurt because you were fidgeting." The assassin set a hand on Frost's, as he was sure that would bewilder him enough to keep him steady. He took a cotton ball damp with antiseptic between a pair of tweezers and dabbed the medication to the infected area. The Ice Demon nearly yelped in pain several times, but he knew Hit would only tell him to keep still yet again, so he struggled to keep quiet. 

The assassin soon finished and exchanged the tweezers and cotton ball for a few other medical supplies that seemed to be purchased recently. They appeared to be items needed to bandage a larger area. He began with a roll of medical tape. He ripped off a couple of strips and stuck them to Frost's fingertips. "Hold onto these. I'll need them in a bit."

As Frost nodded, he found his already impaired vision obstructed by an object that felt like cloth that Hit put over his damaged eye. He could presume that this was some sort of padding for the large wound when it came time to cover it with a bandage. With a free hand, Hit grabbed what seemed to be a gauze roll. He started at the area of the eye. "Alright, I'm about to wrap up your bad eye, so you'll have to adjust to processing without it, okay?"

He chose not to nod to disrupt anything. "That's fine. Do what you have to do."

"Good." The assassin gave a small and brief smile. He began to wrap around the head, mainly focused on covering the sores. He worked in a diagonal, which seemed to be the best structural approach to a gauze wrap over such a difficult area. The top of it reached a high point on the right side of his head before wrapping it back down and around. Darkness came over the left side of his vision. 

After some time of wrapping it around, Frost began to slowly drift off before Hit spoke again. "Okay, you're pretty well covered now. I don't have any of those special scissors at the ready, so I'm going to cut off the excess with a bit of ki. Forgive me if you get a bit of static shock."

The Ice Demon could feel the eerie warmth of some of Hit's ki, which was colored indigo if Frost recalled correctly, near the back of his head. The presence was faint, as it seemed to a small amount localized in his fingers. Before he knew it, the ki faded as the leftover gauze fell silently onto the seat beside him. The assassin temporarily held the wrap closed with his fingers.

"Are you still feeling alright?" He asked.

"I'm fine..." The Ice Demon mumbled, tired.

"Okay, then hand me that tape on your fingers if you will." Frost obediently lifted his right hand to give Hit access. Soon enough, he felt the sticky feelings on his fingers alleviated, as Hit attached the tape strips to the end of the wrapped gauze.

Within a few seconds, Hit pulled back after finishing the process. "Okay, you're all set." He announced, rising to his feet. 

The Ice Demon took a moment to process the new nature of his vision and tried to focus with his one usable eye. "Hmm." He looked up at Hit. "So, that shirt of yours wasn't just some weird haze."

The assassin simply grumbled and walked off. "Just let me know if you need anything. I'm going to make dinner."

While Hit was off in the kitchen making preparations, Frost took the time to immerse himself in the newly visible surroundings. He noted that the assassin had a small set of curio cabinets, the glass displays filled with various treasures such as small gems in a rainbow of colors and hand-crafted figurines made of porcelain or glass. Either Hit was a collector or these were gifts given out of gratitude for his assignments. From his time as a vigilante, the Ice Demon was quite familiar with gratitude gifts and seeing the assassin's collection made him long for his own. These display cases flanked a rather impressive bookcase. Frost did not stop to inspect all of the spines, but there were a few titles he recognized.

However, what truly caught his attention was a rather large item sitting next to the coffee table. It appeared to be the large paper bag that Hit had brought in when he arrived. It was a black color and had tightly-knit rope handles. It seemed to be too big of a container for the supplies from the drug store. There was a fancy brand label on the front that Frost did not recognize. It seemed to be from a sort of department store. Perhaps it was where Hit bought his clothing. 

He was tempted to rise from his seat and investigate until Hit called out to him from the kitchen. "Hey, Frost, I know you like fish, considering you ate the whole bento meal, but how are you with other meats? Not to assume, but you seem like the type to have dietary preferences. Any opposition?"

"I’m not really much of a carnivore besides fish, but I can tolerate it." The Ice Demon responded, not removing his gaze from the mysterious bag. 

"Alright then," Hit sighed. "I'll prepare some extra soup with just the vegetables for you, if that's fine."

"Oh, you don't need to go  _ that  _ far. I can just pick around the-"

The assassin interrupted, in his mellow tone of voice. "It's fine. I want to make sure you're comfortable here." He went quiet again, the only sound from the kitchen being the intermittent sound of a knife slicing cleanly through vegetables. 

Since Hit was distracted from the occurences in the living area, the Ice Demon took the opportunity to investigate the black designer bag. It seemed to be full of a few articles of clothing. They didn't seem to be anything of Hit's tastes and seemed to be intended for a more slender build. They were all dark shades ranging from black to navy blue. The fabrics felt rather expensive. As he analyzed the items, the paper bag rustled with his motions.

Hit was drawn to the sudden sound, turning his head around. "Oh? What are you searching for?" Frost jolted upright at the sound of the assassin's voice, dropping the clothes he was looking through back into the bag. 

"Nothing, Hit. Nothing at all!"

"I see you found that bag of clothes I bought for you." He responded, returning to his work in the kitchen.

"Wait, they're mine?!" The Ice Demon seemed startled.

"Yes, they're obviously too small for me. I wanted you to have some extra tops, so you'll be warm when you-" He cut himself off as he paused in the middle of his preparations. "Yeah... Don't want you to freeze on me."

"Wait, what were you about to say before you interrupted yourself?"

He kept focusing on the cooking. "Oh, it was nothing, Frost.  _ It's a stupid idea anyway. _ " He muttered the last part under his breath.

"What idea?"

A lone thump of the knife hitting the cutting board after a slice broke through the silence. "I wanted to help you get your life back, okay?"

Frost seemed confused.

"Considering how everyone adored you when you were  _ faking  _ heroism and how they bought the act... I knew for sure if you did it for real, you'd be a great vigilante." 

"You thought..." Frost was stumbling on his words. "You could... redeem me?"

"Yeah," The assassin mused. "But, I'm sure you wouldn't go for it. It was a ridiculous idea anyway." The knife continued its pattern of thumping against the cutting board. "You should at least try them on to make sure I got the right sizes."

Frost tried to protest, but he simply sighed and went along with Hit's request. He found a navy button-up within the bag. It seemed convenient, as he wouldn't have to pull it over his head. He slipped into the sleeves and fastened the buttons. The article was thick enough for him to feel comfortable, but it fit rather loosely. He could have sworn it would be a suitable size from the initial glance. He supposed he had not realized just how scrawny he had become over time.

"It's, uh- a little bit big." The Ice Demon commented.

"Oh," Frost could have sworn that he heard the assassin falter. "I didn't mean to assume."

"Ah, don't blame yourself. It probably would have fit if I hadn't slimmed down so much. Once I get back to eating regularly, I'll most likely grow into them."

"Okay, I see." Hit continued to work on preparing whatever meal he had planned. It seemed to be some sort of soup and the Ice Demon could already smell the appetizing aroma. "This might take awhile, so you might as well get comfortable. ”

With a satisfied sigh, Frost slunk back into his seated position on the furnishing. “ _ Duly noted~ _ ” His remaining eye slowly slid shut as he drifted off to rest once more. He hoped that in this brief time he would have the chance to slip back into a pleasant daydream memory, preferably a calming recollection of the days he had with Cabba when everything was simpler. 

However, the resulting vision was far from comforting. It still felt like a memory that seemed recent, but it was rather chilling compared to the previous sets of daydreams. The whole situation was slowly dissolving out of fuzz as his dream self’s two intact eyes opened small cracks at a time. He could hear a faint ringing in his ears that was thankfully on the verge of silencing. He felt strangely stiff and numb in his arms and lower body. Was this part of the memory or some form of sleep paralysis kicking in? There was a smooth metal surface to his back and a familiar black cape draped over his body.

The Arcosian managed a short pained squeak in response to the numb state of his body before hearing a foot shuffling slightly and a quiet somber voice speaking.

_ “I trusted you.” _

Frost snapped back into reality at that moment, trying to shake off the strange haze. He shifted his joints, checking to see if the numbness persisted. However, they were not stiff in the slightest and the only bothersome issue was a few remaining aches in the legs from constant time on the run. It must have been the dream.

However, still resonating with him was the somber and troubled voice. He knew few with that particular tone of voice, but one idea came to him. 

“Hit? Did-” Frost asked groggily. “Did you say something?”

The assassin was still focused in the kitchen and hadn’t even bothered to raise his head and divert his attention. “I didn’t say anything. It must have been in your head. I’ll be sure to tell you when dinner is ready but, in the meantime, you can take things easy.” Hit went quiet again, continuing to prepare the meal, which gave off a pleasant and comforting scent. 

Despite the luxury this fragrance gave his senses, his mind was still focused on the strange dream. The scenario seemed hauntingly familiar. He could deduce that it was most likely a memory he purposefully pushed to the back of his mind, one that he feared resurfacing. Alas, it had risen back to the top of his mind and, no matter how hard he could try to fight it, he had to face it head on. 

After all, he needed answers.

Why did he try to hide it from himself?

Frost hesitantly slipped back into the mysterious dream. This time his senses had more clarity, allowing him to more effectively take in his surroundings. The walls and floors seemed to be made of a bluish-purple see-through material, almost like glass. The familiarity of the sequence came back to him. This was Champa’s hexahedron from the Tournament of Destroyers. He could see the blur of space speeding by through the panels.

Considering he was not upright, nor in his first form, he could safely rationalize that this was after the tournament’s conclusion… after he failed. This would explain the uneasy feelings in his body. Following his loss, Hit had cornered him when he attempted to make off with the God of Destruction’s loot and knocked him into a state of unconsciousness. Remnants of the blows he suffered must have shown themselves in the form of a stiff body and numbed joints. 

The metal to his back was likely the arm of Auta Magetta, who had taken his limp but still living body over the shoulder when everyone prepared to leave. The fabric in his lap was a hooded cloak he had brought to the event mainly for travel usage. The article later became his source of warmth during his time on the run.

Now that he was able to take everything in, he needed to find the source of the voice from earlier. He narrowed down some options. Botamo and Champa had too raspy and gruff of voices to be the somber source, Magetta spoke virtually nothing in common tongue, and Vados never had her trust broken to begin with, considering how well-informed she was. 

That only left the assassin and…

He could feel his heart sink in his chest and, considering this was part of his memory, it probably sank the same way that fateful day. 

_ Cabba. _

He frantically searched for his Saiyan companion and soon found him. His arms were crossed and his body was tensed up. His eyes were a little bleary, no doubt stemmed from a negative emotion of some sort. Was it out of sadness? Was it rage? Or was it both?

_ “Don’t act like I wasn’t talking to you,  _ traitor _ …”  _ The Saiyan’s sight was locked dead onto the Ice Demon.

“Tr-trait-or?” He struggled to let words out, but it was painful to force them. 

_ “I  _ trusted  _ you. You had my heart, my admiration, my…”  _ He clenched his fist as he cut himself off.  _ “You had it all wrapped up with a bow and you could’ve done anything with it.”  _ Cabba’s body grew even tenser than before.  _ “And you choose to crush it. Ball it up as if it doesn’t matter.” _

Frost could feel the pain emanating from the Saiyan’s tone. He didn’t mean to hurt him. He didn’t even know if he would ever be discovered. He thought everything would stay normal.

Then, the Saiyan’s voice suddenly rose.  _ “Is that what I was to you?! Worthless? Did I even matter to you?”  _ His voice was shaking and he was clenching his eyes to prevent any tears or weakness from showing. _ “Was I mere padding to your reputation that you could get rid of in an instant? Was I just an accessory?” _

The Arcosian pressed further to try to ease his broken companion.  _ No. You were something to me!  _ However, he was unable to painfully wheeze out the first word. It felt like someone was stomping on his throat. Perhaps this was a remnant of the damage as well. Before he could try again, Cabba had already moved on. 

_ “I can’t believe any of what I’ve done. I put my faith in a lying scoundrel. I devoted everything to you. I- I even-”  _ He was struggling to speak. _ “I even lov-”  _ He was cut off by the angel Vados. 

_ “Mister Cabba, we’ve arrived at Planet Sadala upon your request. I understand your desire to go back home instead of meeting back at my lord’s palace. Feel free to step out at your leisure.”  _ She explained with a bow. 

Cabba let out a final sigh.  _ “Goodbye, sir.”  _ He refused to even face the Ice Demon as he left the prism vehicle, wordless and head down.

That was what drove Frost to lurch forward suddenly, startling Magetta. He couldn’t accept this. He couldn’t let him leave without the truth. He couldn’t rise, as he could barely feel anything below the waist, but he could at least try to approach the Saiyan. However, he kept stumbling and falling back to the ground. “C-Cabba, w-wait!” He managed to squeak out, his voice wavering and dying out. The crushing pain was overtaking his throat. “I-I’m so-”

Reality snapped back into place again as his eye sprung open. He was in a panicked sweat. His heart was racing and his breathing had quickened. The tension in the air soon subsided with the sound of Hit’s soft laughter. “What? Did I startle you?”

The Ice Demon took regulated breaths in an attempt to ease himself as he felt his pulse slow down to its normal beating. He turned to see the assassin behind him, either finished with his work in the kitchen or at least taking a short break. Either way, he could smell the appetizing aroma culminating throughout the area. Hit must have unknowingly carried the scent along with him, as the fragrance was stronger, as if closer to his nose. Not that he was complaining…

“You’re acting all twitchy like I’m trying to kill you or something.” The assassin shrugged. “All I did was tap your shoulder.”

Frost let out another breath. “It wasn’t you.” He sighed, setting his chin in his palms. “It was something I dreamt about that startled me.” 

“Well, none of that can come out and bite you while you’re awake.” Hit assured him. “But, you don’t have time to go back to sleep right now. The food will be ready soon and it’s best served hot. You can rest again once you’re well fed.”

The Ice Demon could hear his stomach faintly growl at the thought of the upcoming meal, but he didn’t let it divert his attention away from the assassin. “And you came to wake me  _ now _ when things aren’t even ready yet?” He whined. “You had my hopes up…”

“You woke up as I came over anyway, so…” He trailed off, putting his hands in his pants pockets as he usually did with the ones on his coat. It was interesting to note that the little habit of his persisted even after work hours. “I came to ask for your drink preference now, so we don’t have to deal with the decision later. I have a fair little selection of beverages.” Hit began to list off options. “There’s the usual water… I could pour you a bit of dinner wine, provided you’re legally allowed to drink…”

Frost’s attention slowly dwindled away. As much as he would have liked to put food in the front of his mind, lingering thoughts about the resurfacing memory were consuming the entirety of it. As the assassin claimed, nothing from his dream could come out to bite him, but a dream that was true to reality could very well do so. 

Cabba  _ trusted  _ him.

He truly believed he was a genuine vigilante, but the Ice Demon was nothing more than a sham. He was selfish in his plight for power. He was doing it for riches over justice. He had gained the approval of everyone on the grounds of false hope, for what? Just to appease his father’s wishes?

He couldn’t believe how careless he was. He couldn’t undo the damage.

As Frost felt his body tense up, he remembered something Hit had said to him earlier in the evening. He had given him an idea. A chance to turn his fake heroism into something of more value. 

Something  _ genuine _ .

He smiled at the thought, nearly breaking into hysterical laughter in triumph. This was it. He could get Cabba back. He could get  _ everything  _ back! Even now, he could already hear the exhilarating roar of wonderstruck voices calling his name.

_ Frost! Frost! Frost! _

“Frost!”

Frost quickly realized that he had completely spaced out as he directed his attention back to Hit, who had his arms folded and was looking quite frustrated. “Hm?”

“Frost, were you even listening to a word I said?” The assassin had a displeased look on his face, clearly bothered by his guest’s attention suddenly dropping. 

“Hit?” The Ice Demon responded in a solemn tone. “I’ve made my decision.”

“Oh,” Hit responded, somewhat confused. “You don’t need to be so formal when telling me your drink choice. It’s not like what you drink for one dinner is going to impact the rest of your life.”

“Hit, this isn’t about some dumb old drink!” He propped himself off of the couch, determination filling his halved gaze. “This is about me getting my life back.”

The assassin’s eyes widened. “Wait, you’re really going to…”

Frost nodded, a cocky smile clear on his face. “I’m honestly sure, Hit. I want to go back to how it was. I want the security of my vigilante lifestyle back. I want my happy ending back!”

Hit was silent for a moment. It was eerily silent, even for a quiet person like the assassin. He finally started to speak again, albeit somewhat shakily. “That’s wonderful, Frost. I-I don’t know what to say. I’m so pr-” He cut himself off with another tangent as the timer in the kitchen went off. “Oh, I think dinner’s ready. Give me a second.”

As he headed off towards the kitchen, the Ice Demon couldn’t help but notice the grin on his face, which was in complete contrast from his usual apathetic looks. He was trying to keep his head down, possibly to hide it from view. Was this a look of excitement to put the ex-criminal under his wing? Was it one of pride in Frost’s choice to accept reformation? It couldn’t easily be told, but one thing was certain.

Something about the situation was enough to make the stoic assassin smile. 

There was silence for a brief moment as Hit gathered tableware until he spoke up once more. “Oh, and before it slips my mind, there should be a jacket for you in that department store bag. You can’t go on if the outside is too cold for you to manage. Not to mention, that pitiful cloak you had was in complete disarray. It’s too battered now to provide any substantial warmth.” 

On that note, Frost’s vision turned to the coat hooks near the door. On the wooden hook next to Hit’s own work jacket hung the beaten jet black cloak and the Ice Demon truly noted how weathered it was. Some of the edges were beginning to fray and some holes were forming, mostly likely from his attempts to slip into tight situations. No wonder he had grown so sickly. The cloak barely cut it as a source of comfort in the cold.

He turned his gaze back to the bag of designer clothing. Burrowing through the array of fabric, he finally came across it. It had the rigid feel of denim, yet there was a fleecy material that was soft to the touch on the inside. 

He pulled the coat out of the massive clutter of clothes to look it over. It was a dark gray bordering on black and was held together with shining brass buttons. These buttons also sealed a few pockets, two at the chest and two at the hips. The soft lining sloped down into coattails, much like Hit’s. The assassin most likely couldn’t help himself picking a coat with that style. Two halves of a capelet were fastened to either shoulder, likely to be buttoned together when the coat was sealed up. As a decorative accent, there was what appeared to be a miniature fabric rose pinned to the lapel.

It felt just like something he would have worn in his glory days. It felt like the authentic wear of a vigilante, a man of power and confidence. In contrast, his withered cloak was reflective of his darker side, the sign of a hiding criminal with nowhere to turn.

Now, he was sure of himself. He was going to change his ways and become the hero he was believed to be. 

He was doing it not only for his own personal wellbeing…

_ He was doing it for Cabba. _


	4. Adapt Accordingly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hit adjusts to Frost’s presence. Frost meets with an old teammate to get equipped.

As the evening advanced, the idea of receiving a do-over of sorts still felt insane to Frost. It was unheard of. He had believed he had no shot of life ever returning to normal and that running from the law would become his new lifestyle until he finally dropped from starvation or demanded that the assassin break his neck.

Now, he could be a vigilante again and Cabba could see him in the light he once did. No longer would he be labelled as  _ traitor  _ or  _ bastard _ , but as himself. The thought alone was sweet euphoria… it was the intoxication that seemed to rewire his mentality and convince him it would all be alright.

However, with any intoxication, metaphorical or not, the feeling pleases as well as drains.

Following a warm and hearty supper, the Ice Demon couldn’t help but feel exhausted. It was a feeling he rarely acknowledged anymore, as he could no longer take a good night’s rest, knowing he had to run and be ever vigilant. He’d usually slap himself to prevent his eyes from drooping or let the bitter chill of the rain snap him back into reality. But, now, behind closed doors, he could welcome this feeling openly.

Noticing his newfound housemate’s head falling to the table sleepily, disrupting the metal spoon within the emptied soup bowl, Hit finally broke the silence that had loomed over dinner. “You can head to bed if you’re tired.”

“Thanks for the offer, but…” Frost mumbled. “I’m  _ not  _ tired.” The sleepiness that slurred his voice said otherwise. He felt his eyelid slink down, prompting him to give himself a small smack to keep himself alert. “See… I’m not.”

Hit let out a brief “hmph” in response, his lips briefly curling into a slight smile. “Sorry Frost, but you’re not the only  _ ace detective  _ here. I can read you like a book and each page tells me you’re just about ready to drop.”

“Tch… Fine,  _ Sherlock… _ ” The tired Ice Demon scoffed. “If it makes you happy, I’ll be on the couch…” He slumped out of the dining room chair and off towards the living area.

“You know, you don’t  _ have to  _ sleep on the couch.” The hitman proposed, as he left the table with the leftover dishes.

“Oh,” Frost paused in his tracks. “And  _ where  _ would you rather have me sleep? Are you planning to shunt me back outside over having me take up your breathing space?” Frustration attempted to show itself in his voice, but it was ultimately overtaken by a tone of sluggishness and fatigue.

Gently setting the dirtied dishes into the sink and quickly rinsing them off, Hit reassured the Ice Demon that this was not the case. “Listen, I may be a so-called ‘cold-hearted killer’, but I’m not  _ that  _ cruel. I can get your sleeping arrangements set up in a bit. I’m a bit tired myself, so just let me get a shower real quick and I'll be ready, alright?”

"I suppose…" The tired Ice Demon turned around, yawning. "Whatever you need to do…"

* * *

As Hit headed back the hallway, Frost followed soon after. For some reason, the hall seemed shorter in distance from a visual perspective than it actually was in steps. In fact, it at first looked flat, like an illusion painting. Perhaps this was due to the singularity of his vision now that his bad eye had been covered, the good eye now struggling to handle depth perception on its own. An unusual phenomenon and one he didn't think he'd have to experience.

Noticing the sound of footsteps against the carpet following shortly behind him, Hit looked back, confused. "You don't need to follow me. I do this sort of thing  _ alone _ . Unless, that's a problem for you."

"Oh, not at all." Frost simply smiled blamelessly. "I'll just be patiently waiting for you to finish up."

" _ Outside  _ the bathroom door, correct?" The assassin's gaze filled with a touch of skepticism.

"Pfft…" The Ice Demon scoffed. "I'm not  _ that  _ curious."

Hit simply nodded. "Just making sure we've got that clear. Don't tempt yourself with the thought."

"Oh, how you chide me, assassin." Frost teased. He sat himself down against the wall across from the bathroom door. "You can relax. I don't intend to stare."

"Hopefully, I can trust your word on that." Hit slid open the bathroom door, made of framed frosted glass. "I'll take ten minutes, tops." He closed the door behind him and locked it. 

This left Frost alone with his thoughts yet again. It was much quieter without Hit's presence, but it was already quiet  _ when  _ he was in the room. So, things seemed mostly unchanged. 

His one eye darted around, bored, finally stopping at the frosted glass door. The visual wasn't too ideal, the glass type causing only masses of color to be really visible. He could, of course, distinguish the lavender and green of Hit, standing by the mirror. The size of the green mass shrank, slowly being replaced with more purple. Was he in the middle of…

A spot of glaring red eyes in his direction confirmed his suspicion. This was his cue to look elsewhere. Gaze averted from the glass door, he sighed and crossed over to the other side of the hall and slumped down by the wall on that side. Provided he didn't budge from his position, Hit could be assured that Frost had been freed from the temptation.

_ Now _ , it was quiet again, save for the faint droplets of light rain pattering against the living room window and the almost hiss-like sound of the shower water streaming.

It was no different from the outdoor weather that Frost had dwelled in during the months following the Tournament of Destroyers, except now the scene was warmer and more forgiving. The harsh flow of rain could not hurt him here and that was a positive note he could rest on…

Until he found himself in another dream…

_ Splendid _ , he thought.  _ Just splendid _ .  _ This can end all of two ways: a happy memory or a reminder of my failures _ .  _ It's all a roulette with these things. _

He silently posed his guesses of what his dreams were trying to show him this time. Was it one of his vigilante days, spent with no worry along with Cabba, or maybe further ammunition to berate himself with? A harsh recollection of his foolishly placed trust in Frieza during the Tournament of Power perhaps? That accursed tournament had yet to be touched on in his dreams, so maybe it was finally ready to surface.

Frost was thankful to have not bet any money on a prediction, because his mind drew a wild card and picked none of the above. 

As the dream took shape, he realized he was laying down in this scenario, not on the ground in defeat, but in a safe and comfortable bed. He faced the ceiling, unlike any recent ceilings he had seen. Yet, it was familiar. The blue checkered bed sheets that covered his body… familiar as well. 

His eyes darted to the side, perusing items in the room. There was an off-white dresser with gold-colored accents decorating each drawer. On top sat a charming little frame with a photo inside. The image was of an Arcosian woman of gray scales and a small and very young boy with horns sat in her lap. He knew without a doubt that the framed photo was of a mother and son…

...because the boy was him… and this place… was home.

How long had it been since he had been home? The Tournament of Destroyers had exposed him and deprived him of a home, but that home was not the one he had returned to in this dream. This was his original home, before he became a vigilante- Arcos.

He silently attempted to remember when he was last here. He was about fifteen when his father had finished molding him into a vigilante, which was when he left Arcos. So… it had been five years since he had seen this bedroom. 

He could not physically smell the dream, but the memory was vivid enough that he could hallucinate the scents with almost frightening accuracy. The house always seemed to smell smoky- his father smoked cigars and the odor seemed to always carry on his clothes and breath, and it often spread with his movements. To compensate, fragrant flowers were placed around in attempts to even slightly counteract the scent of smoke, with new batches being swapped in every so often.

In an attempt to further immerse himself in the nostalgia of his Arcos bedroom, he seated himself upright, plaid sheets sliding down his body and settling in his lap. His body shifted with him as he looked around, taking in the sight of familiar objects: a potted aloe vera to retain freshness in the room, a simple desk with a few texts neatly stacked on top. As he further looked to the right, his left arm tried to move with him, slowly and carefully until…

A harsh popping sound stopped him.

The real him could only feel pain in sympathy for his past self, wincing at the sound alone. This pain rocketing through his arm was not a sudden nerve pinch, but a reminder that the arm was already broken.

_ Can I have  _ one  _ dream where I'm not injured in some way? _

He resigned his head back to his pillow, not bothering to pull the sheets back up from his waist. He remembered that broken arm. Frost was about thirteen when it happened and it was the result of a rather rough round of training with his father. He had been strictly told not to let his mother know and had been secretly sent off to bed. 

But, he also remembered that the secret had not been kept for long. 

He allowed the scene to play out, as the door soon after received a passive knock.  _ "Frost,"  _ A melodious voice, soft and smooth as butter, spoke through the door.  _ "Are you still awake…?" _

Startled, he hastily grabbed the sheets with his right hand and attempted to pull them over himself, failing miserably. Sighing with resignation, he responded.  _ "Yes, mother…" _

Softly, his mother giggled as she opened the door and stepped in, her feet tapping gently against the dark hardwood. 

Lady Realis, a woman of elegance and tranquillity- yet such beauty was fleeting, knowing she was gone. She had beautiful crystalline biogems, still shimmering as he remembered them. She always seemed to wear some form of black clothing; this time, it was a thin-strapped satin nightgown, cut short. 

_ "I don't mean to intrude, my icicle…"  _ Her voice was almost a purr.  _ "You've just been gone the whole day… I was worried." _

_ "I'm fine, mother."  _ He sat up, careful not to let his left arm budge.  _ "Father was out with me all day. He watched over me." _

_ "And… that's what I was afraid of."  _ Realis sighed, as she knelt down to meet him at eye level. Worry was spread in her ruby red eyes and the smile ran away from her face.  _ "I want you to tell me what you were doing with your father all day."  _ Her soft gray hand touched his left arm, causing him to nearly flinch.

_ "He told me you'd be mad if I told you." _

_ "I won't be mad… I just wish to know…" _

A nervous swallow was Frost's response.  _ "He was assessing my strength… by fighting me. Things got somewhat out of hand." _

Her eyes narrowed.  _ "Define… Out of hand." _

Frost's eyes averted themselves.  _ "Did I say 'out of hand'? That's funny, you're hearing things… Heh-heh..."  _ He laughed nervously, sent into a cold sweat.

_ "Frost, please. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong." _

He finally sighed in defeat, simply presenting his arm and letting it do the explaining. She simply felt around the area, and detected the point of the break with Frost's wince in response.  _ "Mm… I feared he'd go this far…" _

_ "Wait, you knew this would happen-" _

_ "Your father has a… way of dealing with this sort of thing. Considering he left you untreated, he's trying to convince you that this is a mark of honor, to be proud of your pain…" _

_ "That's exactly what he told me." _

Realis lowered her head somberly.  _ "Of course he did. I know my Shiver… His problem is, his many battles have molded his crooked ideology… _

_ Masochism… He's become a poor trapped masochist.  _

_ He's desensitized himself to pain, believing it to be pleasurable. But, by losing his sense to feel bad about his own suffering, he loses his response to the pain of others.  _

_ You can't become that kind of person. Retain your heart. Know that pain is meant to be felt, but don't devote yourself to the feeling. If you know your limit, what hurts, you can understand that everyone has a limit as well, and you can avoid their pain later on." _

_ "So… I just have to… know how much they can take?" _

Her head slowly rose again with a sigh, her tail delicately draping along her son's shoulders.  _ "I'm afraid it's not as simple as that, icicle… I never wanted to have to talk to you about this… I never thought you'd ever be a subject to your father's ways, let alone fight, but… We never know a person's limitations until it's too late. _

_ Those who look frail can still be strong, like you. But, the strong often have something that can break them in an instant. Physically or mentally. We only find these things by sheer accident." _

Frost paused on this. Maybe this was why his mother's words came back to him now and why they resonated with him. The Tournament of Power and its aftermath had opened his eyes to his faults. His foolish trust… and foolish lust towards Frieza… His anger… They had broken him and left him weak to the Destruction god's wrath. 

But… His mind went to someone else… Cabba… The reveal of his ruse had broken Cabba instantly. He had never considered the Saiyan's weakness and had discovered the breaking of the once strong. 

His attention was returned to the dream by Realis rising from the bedside and her draping tail leaving him.  _ "For now, though, you should be resting… I will fetch some bandages for your arm in a moment."  _ She once again held his left arm, this time shifting it to be close to the chest, an ideal position to splint the wound.

_ "The hell?! It still hurts you know."  _ Frost practically hissed, unknowing at the time.

_ "Shh… I know, dear…" _

As she finished speaking, the dream concluded, as Frost awakened by his own volition upon hearing the bathroom door opening and Hit stepping out. 

His night clothes further reminded the Ice Demon of the startlingly strange docility found within the assassin after hours. He wore a rather simplistic set of dark gray pajamas, covered by a somewhat lighter gray bathrobe, made of a soft and fluffy fleece and tied at the waist.

"Getting a head start I see…" There was a brief smirk on his face that disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared. 

"You can't really blame me," Frost propped himself up off the floor. "It gets boring waiting."

"If it wasn't for your fatigued state, I'd suspect you to be quite impatient. It was only fifteen minutes." 

Frost caught onto the contradiction almost immediately. "Wait a minute, you said it would take ten minutes, tops."

Hit only shrugged in response. "Just needed a tad bit more time. That's all."

"Oh? Did you need that extra time to wash all that hair your species doesn't have?" The Ice Demon retorted. 

Without missing a beat, Hit instantly shot back with a response. "No, I needed those extra five minutes in order to find all of that hot water you saved for me."

Frost found himself in no position to argue, no matter how much he wanted to strike back. "Hmph.  _ Touché… _ "

"Just follow me and we can get this over with. Both of us could use the rest." Hit turned around on a heel, heading down the hall towards the bedroom at the end cap. The Ice Demon followed obediently, trailing behind at the motivating thought of a comfortable night's rest, much like how a cat would follow a shaken bag of treats. 

Along the way, the assassin stopped at a small wicker laundry hamper near the door. Opening the lid, he dropped in the day's laundry, but held it open for a moment longer, glancing to Frost. "Go ahead."

The Ice Demon soon after began to undo his shirt's buttons and slid out of the sleeves. However, a touch of mischief prompted him to ball up the clothing, analyzing the perfect angle to throw…

The balled up shirt barely left his palm when, suddenly, in a blink, Hit had it in his hand, dropping it into the basket with his signature look of no nonsense. 

"Really, Hit? Using your Time-Skip for such frivolous reasons, killjoy?"

"You were about to miss your shot anyway. I'll let you try again tomorrow… just… let's get some sleep."

* * *

The assassin's bedroom wasn't too extravagant, but it sure wasn't basic and bland either. The nightstand was made of fine spruce and the bed's frame was the same. The bed was queen sized, plenty of room for a single man of Hit's sleek build and then some. Tidily arranged black sheets made of a fancy and soft silk adorned the spread and thoroughly fluffed throw pillows of neutral shades formed a row along the head. 

To the other side of the room was a wooden desk flanked by a filing cabinet and a small shelf of trinkets and the occasional small book. The desk spread contained a misty glass mason jar of pencils and pens, ordinary enough, as well as two other peculiar objects. 

One was a decently thick text with a spine reading " _ The Arcosian Species _ ". It was somewhat disturbing that the assassin was looking in depth on the topic of his species, but somewhat reassuring that he was making sure he was getting it right.

The second was a framed photo of a fairly recent scene that he remembered clearly. It was an impromptu team photo taken prior to the Tournament of Destroyers, courtesy of Cabba with his phone. Botamo and Magetta had to squeeze into frame and Hit was unwillingly wrangled in, but he still gave a small side smile. Frost never pictured Hit to be the sentimental type to keep such a photo, let alone print it out and frame it. The Ice Demon winced a bit at seeing his younger self next to Cabba, smiling a naive smile, unaware of what was about to happen to him.

As Frost observed, Hit opened a side closet and began browsing for something on the top shelf, barely needing to stretch to reach it. "Hang on, I just need to find something in here and you'll be good to go. Relax for a bit."

"Noted~" The Ice Demon warbled, as he looked around for a comfortable spot. Noticing the digital alarm clock on the nightstand, he nearly flinched at the time. Only  _ seven thirty?!  _ Strange how he was so tired so early. However, he did not let this distract him, as he had already pinpointed the ideal spot. 

Hit finally grabbed what he was seeking out, pulling it from the top shelf. "Ah, there it is." He turned around to face Frost. "Okay, I've got the-" He cut himself off. "What do you think you're doing?"

The Arcosian had seated himself atop his silky linen, simply smiling innocently, yet there was plotting in his one remaining eye. His tail batted about lazily. Looking him over once again, Hit noticed that the food he had been provided had yet to replenish his body; he was still dangerously lithe and it was concerning that he could count his ribs. Poor creature.

"Getting comfortable. What does it look like I'm doing?" Frost stretched his arms out behind him.

"Not on my bed, you aren't." He grabbed one of Frost's arms, firm enough to grasp, but gently, considering its likely fragility. "Where do you expect  _ me _ to sleep?" He attempted to pull the Arcosian off of the bed.

"Hey! It's a double bed, we can share it!"

"Please, I just don't want to make this awkward…"

"What? Do you sleep commando or something?"

Finally removing the persistent lizard from the mattress, he sighed. "No, it's- just… personal preference. Can you just make this easy for everyone involved and sleep on the air futon on the floor?"

"Fine…" Frost nearly hissed. "I'll sleep on the floor… peasant-like…" He flopped down onto the air futon, still flat and deflated. "This is not the slightest bit comfortable." Hit could only laugh a bit at this.

"And  _ what  _ is so funny?"

The assassin was finally able to control himself. "You've never slept on an air futon before, have you?"

"You'd think I would stoop as low as sleeping on the floor? Of course I haven't."

"Well, the thing about an air futon is that you're supposed to pump it full of firm air before you sleep on it."

"Oh." Frost's eye widened, clearly embarrassed by his obvious mistake. "I suppose that makes sense." He stepped off of the deflated mat. "Go ahead…"

"Alright then," Hit knelt down next to the flattened mat and attached the small pump. "While I get this set up, go check the closet for some blankets. There should be some in there at your height level."

It took a minute or so to fully inflate the mattress, but this was just enough time for Frost to scavenge for linen. As Hit rose to his feet again, he noticed the Ice Demon readied with arms full of blankets. Clearly sufficient enough… if he wanted to fully encase himself in a chrysalis. "I see that you're sufficiently prepared. But, the question is… are you preparing for bed or metamorphosis?"

"It's not my fault you left me the thinner blankets." Frost retorted with a roll of the eye. "I'm going to need all of these tiny blankets to keep up my body heat, you know?"

"It doesn't get  _ that  _ cold in here, but, if you say so." Without further comment on the matter, Hit headed off to his own bed. He slid out of his robe and under the sheets, checked to make sure the alarm clock was set, and finally laid himself down, exhausted after a day of assignments. "Ready for me to turn the lights out now?"

"All good…" The Ice Demon purred, flopped down on his back atop the plushy air mat. He had covered himself in layer upon layer of thin bed blankets. He didn't even raise his head toward the assassin's voice, either busying himself with gazing at the ceiling or having shut his eyes already.

Hit nodded and reached out to turn down the lights, sending the room into nocturnal blackness, the only glow being the digits on the alarm clock. All was said and done for the day and the assassin could rest easy until his early rise in the morning. Relaxing again, he finally descended into sleep for the night. 

All was silent in the apartment…

At least for a moment.

"Psst…" A soft, yet audible murmur came from Frost. Hit thought nothing of it, not flinching, until he spoke again. "Hey. Hit."

The assassin's eyes slowly opened in narrowed slants with a groan. He fumbled for the dimmer switch in the dark, only to give up in his tiredness and turn on the lamp on the opposing nightstand, creating a small illuminating glow. "What is it, Frost…?"

"Hit, I just had a thought-"

"Truly revolutionary…" Hit grumbled, shutting off the light and lying back down. "Good night."

"Wait, no, I'm serious!" The Ice Demon yipped in response, his voice somewhat drained from fatigue. The assassin begrudgingly turned the lamp light back on. "This is about me returning to my vigilante ways."

"Didn't we already go over this?" 

"No, no. This is something different, something that could help me in the long run, you know?"

"I see, but could we please discuss this in the morning?" Hit sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with two fingers. "I  _ really  _ need to sleep to be at my best for tomorrow."

"Alright then." Frost was still on his back, but he still raised a weak thumbs up. "That works with me…"

"Good. Now, go back to sleep."

The light was shut back off, sending the room once again into darkness and quiet. The assassin lied back down in peace, not even stirring at the Ice Demon's mid-slumber purrs. He was much more docile in the security of a home. He was barely a bother sleeping, almost like a small cat. 

Hit closed his eyes again in conclusion of the night, but couldn't help but let out a small "hmph", as a brief "told you so", when he heard Frost mumbling and purposefully kicking off one of his once sought after blankets.

* * *

"What do you mean,  _ 'no' _ ?"

It was the next morning and the promised discussion had been made… with less than desirable results for Frost. 

The Ice Demon sat on his knees on the floor between the couch and coffee table. Behind him, on the leather cushion in the middle, sat Hit, who was tending to the replacement of the bandages around Frost's eye, fumbling a bit due to the Arcosian's insistence on moving. 

The assassin was already dressed for work, aside from his boots and detachable coattails. Rather than a greenish undershirt, he had chosen one that was a passive grayish purple. He was not ready to leave yet, so his jacket had been left open. 

"Would you kindly refrain from  _ squirming _ so much? You're going to make me mess up your bandages." He grumbled under his breath.

"Fine…" Frost grumbled, now sitting up firmly straight. "But, my earlier question still stands."

"Whimpering at my heels isn't going to change my answer. It's a firm 'no' from me. You're not going there."

"It's not like I'm venturing out into the unknown, I'm just thinking of getting my usual from Rota. We're in, we're out. Easy peasy." His tail swished around, almost playfully. 

"I know, it's regular for you, but vigilantes don't usually keep poison needles in their wrists."

"Hey, that's not true. I had them all the time when I was a vigilante!" 

"When you were a  _ fake  _ vigilante."

"They were still useful! Besides, I was only planning on getting the stun ones put in." Frost retorted, hoping to clarify, but only concerning Hit more. 

The assassin's normally narrowed eyes widened, as he paused his wrapping of the lizard's wounded eye. "As opposed to the ones of the 'non-stun' variety?"

"Hey, that's all water under the bridge, I don't use those anymore."

"Even so, why do you even need these sorts of weapons for  _ peacekeeping _ ?" Hit snipped off the excess bandage and nudged Frost's hand for the tape, which he gave over without hesitation. "Not to mention, is this little 'witch doctor clinic' of his even  _ legal _ ?"

"Hmph,  _ is it legal?,  _ he asks." Frost simply shrugged. "That is all up to your interpretation, Hit."

"So, it's not legal." The assassin firmly concluded, rising from the couch, prompting the Ice Demon to reclaim the seat without hesitation. "We shouldn't dwell on this much longer, or I'm going to be late." He closed his jacket and clipped his coattails to his belt. 

"There's a box of pastries for breakfast on the counter, only take one. Bentos for lunch are in the fridge. Don't burn down the apartment. I'll be back by five at the latest if I'm assignment-free." Hit quickly rattled off his parting notes as he put his boots on. 

"Shall we continue this conversation upon your return?" Frost inquired. 

"I suppose so," Hit grunted. "Even though there doesn't seem to be anything left to discuss here." He flicked the lights to a dim setting and headed out the door without much fanfare.

* * *

Hit had returned at five with a sigh, Frost instantly perking up at the words, "Get your jacket, we're heading out."

The assassin, once firm on his belief that Frost did not need to go out to Rota's clinic for poison needles, had finally resigned to the idea, no matter how much he was repulsed by the thought. This confused both parties to no end, considering their prior disagreement.

"I can't believe you're actually going through with this." There was a bit more spring in Frost's step now, but he made sure not to stray from the shielding of Hit's umbrella. "And I didn't even have to whip out my very  _ well-rehearsed  _ defense."

"I'm not totally convinced of what I'm doing either." Hit grumbled. "I talked about this situation with Frigid between assignments and she told me that if you really think this will benefit you, I should let you go for it."

"Damn! I haven't even  _ met  _ this woman and I like her already." The Ice Demon smiled, a touch of laughter in his voice. 

"Yeah, she's quite the character alright." Hit replied, his straightforward tone unfazed. 

Frost looked up with his signature teasing smiling, hoping to catch Hit blushing again, only to find the opposite. The assassin's face was growing strangely paler purple.

"Hey, are you going to be okay?" Frost's head turned in confusion. "Not saying I wouldn't catch you if you passed out, but you'd probably crush me under the pressure."

"Oh." Hit snapped back to reality, the purple slowly returning. "Me? I'll be fine. Just a bit of anxiety about… all this."

"Come on, you're an  _ assassin _ , you've been to all sorts of criminal hidey-holes to secure kills. Why does this one in particular have you all jittery?"

Hit sighed. "It's just… I'm not comfortable with stooping to the level of participating in such a practice."

"Oh, you'll be  _ fine _ ." The Ice Demon reassured him. "We'll be in and out in no time at all." He stopped in his tracks. "See, we're here already."

The assassin tried to stow his fear of engaging in the illegal in the face of this dreaded needle clinic. Turning his head up, he noted the small alcove before them. A good portion of stores and bars in this district of the city were situated in similar alcoves. Stairs led down to the entrances, as they were partially underground, much like subway stations. 

This particular cove had no labeling signboard overhead and the stairs were blocked off with yellow caution tape. As if the idea of a clinic run by a self-proclaimed 'witch doctor' wasn't suspicious enough…  _ this  _ was what the outside looked like?

"Well, it looks like it's closed." Hit sighed. "Let's go home." He prepared to turn around to head in the other direction before Frost grabbed him by the arm.

"No, it's not, you fool. Haven't you seen this sort of tape before?" Frost glared back.

"Of course, it means it's off limits. It's closed."

"Clearly, you haven't been immersed in this sort of thing." The Ice Demon rolled his single eye. "With these types of businesses, the tape is just to dissuade the common folk. The true patrons slip past."

Hit simply grumbled. "Are you  _ serious?  _ Are you sure you didn't hit your head somewhere along the way?"

"As serious as I can be. I've done this tons of times, as a vigilante  _ and _ as a fugitive." On all fours, Frost slithered in beneath the tape, before rising again. A bit of grime from the stairwell had accumulated on his jacket and the knees of his leggings, but it was nothing a quick cleaning couldn't solve. "It's your turn now, Hit. Slip past. The tape won't bite."

Hit scoffed under his breath, "No way in  _ Hell  _ that I'm stooping to your level."

"Come on, quit stalling."

The assassin sighed in resignation. "Fine, but I'm  _ not  _ crawling." He shut his umbrella and took a breath.  _ Guess I'm really doing this. _

Within a blink, Hit had appeared next to the Ice Demon without much fanfare. Thankfully, no one could see him within time-space without some supernatural ability, so he was saved from the brief embarrassment of resorting to a criminal scrounger's methods.

"Was the Time-Skip really necessary, show-off?"

"It kills less real time and keeps me out of sight. So, yes. It was perfectly necessary. So, why don't you be more like it and stop wasting time?" 

"Alright, fine." Frost simply huffed. He tapped his tail to the door, pauses between certain taps, almost like a pattern. Perhaps due to the secrecy of the witch doctor's practices, a certain knock functioning as a password was required for entry. "He'll let us in shortly, provided he's in."

Within seconds, a voice spoke from the other side of the door. "Eh? Who's there?" It was a rather exaggerated accent, but an accent nonetheless. 

"Rota, it's me. Frost? The one you give the needle treatment every third Thursday?"

"Ahh, you're weeks early, Herr Frost, but the doctor can surely squeeze you in now." Rota mused. He slid open a small peephole to verify his customer's presence. Factoring in the door's height compared to Rota's, he likely had to step on a stepstool to do so. His eyes scanned the view from outside the door, catching sight of Frost and then… Hit.

" _ Aght! _ " A panicked noise came from the swine witch doctor as he slammed the peephole shut. "Nyet! Nyet! Ignore the man you are hearing. It is a recorded message. No one's here! Auf Wiedersehen! Come back later!"

Frost's eye shot back to Hit, then back to the door. "Rota, come on… I know you're there."

"Herr Frost, I do not mean to frighten you, but there is an  _ assassin  _ right behind you." Rota's voice quivered. 

He once again looked back to Hit. "Rota, I know that Hit's behind me. He's not here on business. He's not going to hurt you."

The door opened a crack. "You promise? Do you swear to me that this is no trap?" The small red-furred boar slowly peeked out. There was worry in his eyes that tried to hide itself behind his thick spectacles. 

Hit sighed in response. "Unfortunately for me, your life is spared until I get the contract to kill you."

"Ahh, excellent!" The witch doctor gave a hearty laugh and fully opened the door. "Come right in, you two." He pushed away the stepstool. 

Frost followed Rota inside with confidence, having gone through this process many times before. He was unswayed by the thought of engaging in a likely illegal practice and had mastered the art of not getting caught.

Hit tried to follow this example, so as not to let his anxiety show. Sure, Dr. Rota's fear had already left knowing today was not his day to die, but he couldn't keep the fear of an assassin at bay forever. He tried to prevent the display of weakness and nerves to become apparent, even if he had to put up a facade. His ruby red eyes avoided contact with those of the others. Even as he toughed out his worries, he could still feel his face grow a bit pale.

Rota broke the silence, "So… The assassin? He's your friend now?"

"I wouldn't say  _ friend _ ." Hit muttered under his breath. 

"Debatable, but we have a truce at the very least." Frost shrugged, answering for the assassin. "We're working something out, somewhat of a reformation project."

"So, he's planning on letting us fiends off the hook, eh?" Rota inquired.

" _ Never." _

"No, Rota, the reformation is for me." The Ice Demon responded, covering up the assassin's muttered commentary. "He sees some good left in me, allowing me to change… Well, besides the whole  _ wrist needles  _ thing."

"And, as a… whatever you are to each other, would you say he's always this… distant?"

Frost turned back to Hit, noting his lack of eye contact. "Oh, don't mind him. He's not all too comfortable in a place like this when you don't let him kill anyone."

The assassin gave a brief 'tch' at the phrasing of the explanation before the swine doctor turned to him, giving him a glance over his glasses and causing him to flinch, a rare occurrence.

"S'alright, lad. We're all friends here. Plus, I can help you out with those symptoms of yours if it's any consolation. My alternative cures were real big back when I had my medical license."

Hit managed to hide his concern and not let his voice waver as he turned him down. "It's fine. I'm good for the time being. I have perfectly-" He hesitated for a split second. "- _ effective  _ painkillers and antacids back home. It's not even that bad."

"Understandable," Rota adjusted his lenses. "But, I could very well give you something to target your anxieties directly. Some medicinal herbs will calm you in an instant-"

" _ No. _ " Hit firmly declined. "It's. Fine. I don't need you to peddle me  _ drugs _ , thank you very little."

"You misunderstand… These are completely different  _ medicinal herbs _ -"

"Rota, for your own well-being, please don't pester him further. He's already on edge." Frost's voice even wavered. 

"Ah, of course." Rota turned back around as they continued into the corridor. Small metal benches flanked them on each side, most likely for the waiting patients the doctor didn't have. "Let's get back to the procedure at hand." He opened another door, this time leading into a small exam room, flooding everyone's vision with the signature blinding white light, a light one willingly adjusted to.

The room had a simplistic doctor’s office design and all the furnishings that came with it: cabinets of his likely dangerous brews, the doctor’s own private desk… a small exam table lined with traditional wax paper, across from two small confined chairs for accompanying parties. It even had the characteristic stuffy smell of foamy hand sanitizer and powdered gloves. Everything was perfectly in order for a small clinic, but the facade didn’t fool Hit. He knew what this place had to hide. It was eerie how this locale tried to fool his senses into considering this safe.

“Come, sit. You’re already familiar with the whole procedure, so we can get started right away.” Rota led the two in and turned to the counter. He stepped onto a nearby step stool and, from one of the cabinets, fetched a small bottle of purple fluid, simply labeled “ _ Fr. STUN _ ”. Frost was already seated on the exam table, his coat down at his waist, as the red boar began relaying some details.

“I have to brew more of this stuff, so we only have the ‘stun’ variety. Is that alright with you?”

“Of course, I only needed stuns anyway.” After a pause and before Rota could close the cabinet, he continued. “Oh, and I also need new needles put in first. I lost mine.”

“No problem, sir.” The doctor nodded with a hearty snort. He grabbed a small gray case that rattled as it shifted, likely from the needles encased inside, and closed the cabinet behind him. “We’re just about ready to go. I will try to be quick for you, assassin, but feel free to take a seat. Relax your murder twitch, if you please.”

Hit could only let out a brief sigh as he begrudgingly took a seat in one of the small chairs. Unfortunately, as with any doctor’s office, the chairs hung unreasonably low. He never had to experience this in the past, as he was only ever in attendance for his own check-ups. Now, he wished to never use one of these chairs again, as he struggled to find comfort within it, his long legs having nowhere to go. He settled on crossing one over the other, allowing at least one to be comfortable.

“Okay, and a little alcohol wipe to start…” Rota mused, as Hit started tuning out the conversation. He didn’t feel as if he needed to involve himself in this too much. As Frost has said, it would be an easy in and out situation, so he might as well just look around until it was over. Sure enough, this clinic was truly characteristic, the white ceiling lights being almost blinding to look at if not adjusted to. He noted the movements of those around him: Rota was standing precariously on his step stool again to reach his patient- having everything high up must have been a challenge for the small creature -and Frost, on the other hand, had his feet dangling above the ground, prompting his legs to gently swing back and forth. A childish trait, but an understandable habit. 

But, what caught his eye was something on the counter. It was a small wire rack with small hooks. From each hook hung a loop of a different colored ribbon. Tethered to each was a wooden block with rounded off corners. Etched into the wood was a designated character for each. Were these meant to be talismans? They seemed to have kanji lettering from a more outdated language of script. Hit was able to easily identify a few, but, unless the purpose of the talisman on the top left hook actually was “soup”, it was clear that the doctor’s script was rather subpar. 

However, more importantly, what were such items doing in this clinic? Hit knew that Rota was no mere physician, but... He decided to look past these, deeming it not worthy to ask about.

However, within a few seconds, he was drawn back to the situation at hand. “Alright, your wrist needles are all done~” Frost was smiling at his right wrist, now outfitted with another new needle, having no trouble admiring it despite his current state of vision. 

Hit finally found his chance to free himself of the tiny chair and unfold himself. “So, we’re done here?” He responded with an impatient tapping of his foot. “Anything I should worry about with him? Site pain, infection?”

“Oh, nothing to concern yourself over, sir. I’ve been experimenting with Frost’s needle job for years now. I’ve perfected it by now. Plus, since the slot is already there, putting in new ones is about as painless and simple as a Fräulein putting in her earrings.” The swine doctor explained, as Frost busied himself in the background by playing around with the needle, letting it unsheath and resheath.

“I presume this will be all… Frost.” Frost jolted back upright at Hit calling his name.

“Oh, uh, sorry to make you wait long.” However, instead of rising from the exam table as Hit had expected, he turned to Rota again. "Before we head out, could you do something about the needle in my tail too?"

"With pleasure, Herr Frost. I can get you a reload of the poison, no problem."

"Actually, I'm going to need a new one put in…"

The red boar, in the middle of turning around, paused in his tracks. "You weren't supposed to take that one out yet!"

"I wasn't?"

"Indeed. You needed to let it in for a month so it could properly settle. What idea was running through your brain when you thought to pull it out?"

Frost's previous gaze of worry turned to one of anger as he glared at Hit, knowing very well that he was why he had taken out the needle. 

"Oh, so it's  _ my  _ fault…" Hit returned the glare. "Well,  _ sorry  _ for trying to  _ protect  _ you from getting erased for a foul."

"And look at all the help that was! I got erased anyway!" Frost hissed.

"We  _ all  _ got erased."

"And  _ whose  _ fault was that, 'Never Miss Hit'?"

"Now, now, let us not point fingers. Let's put that tournament behind us now." Rota interjected. "It's not that difficult to redo the procedure. We can put the needle in to recreate the little hole, but it will be a lot of pain like when we first put it in, okay?"

Frost's expression soured to a look of utter fear at the thought of this pain, but he nodded nonetheless. "That'll be alright."

"Okay then. I'll go prepare the needle. Sit tight for a bit."

Hit attempted to turn his gaze away again, only to be drawn back by the Ice Demon, who was… whimpering? He looked like he was about to be sick. 

"What?"

Frost did not respond, only continuing to give him a look that read "save me". Hit simply rolled his eyes and approached him. "If it'll take your mind away from the sting, you can hold onto my-" Within seconds, the Ice Demon latched his hand onto the assassin's arm. "...wrist."

"Okay, the needle's all ready. You’re going to feel a little bit of cold, that’ll just be the ice." Rota stepped over with one of the little stingers, as well as a small sandwich bag of crushed ice as a makeshift ice pack. Frost flinched as the witch doctor held his tail straight and applied the ice bag near the tip. "And we will have the needle inserted in three… two…"

Hit could tell that Rota stuck the needle in at 'one' without even looking, as he felt his wrist crushed with a great amount of squeezing force. Not enough to break, but a pretty powerful squeeze nonetheless. The Ice Demon's eye was wide and almost watering. "And, you're all done!"

"Relax, the pain will stop soon." The assassin tried to reassure his panicked companion, who stepped off the exam table to regain his composure. He released his grip on Hit's wrist and let himself breathe. 

"Let's just finish this whole ordeal already. How much do we owe you?" Hit reached into his coat pocket to find his wallet. 

"Oh, don't sweat it. I know how tough it must be for him to lose his glory and have to roam the streets. For him, no charge."

Frost managed a smile once again, as he reclaimed his coat and continued to massage the sore spot of his tail. " _ Grazie _ , Rota-san…"

"Oh, but while you have your wallet on your mind, assassin, may I interest you in any of my other wares?"

"I already told you, I don't want to buy any of your drugs…"

"Oh, I have more than medicine, sir." Rota turned to the counter of medallion charms. "We also have some lovely luck talismans in stock!"

"I don't believe in superstitious things like luck charms…" 

"But, you will believe when you try one of these. They are sure to bring you prosperity and good fortune. Let’s see which one will suit you best… Strength, no… Wealth, no… You have plenty of those things... a-ha! This one with the lovely ruby red ribbon will suit you just fine!" Rota unhooked the red-ribboned talisman from the rack with a giddy look on his face. He stepped onto the counter in an attempt to come closer to Hit's eye level.

"What does the ruby red one represent?" His gaze moved to Frost, who had a deviously knowing smile on his face. This worried the assassin further.

"I'm glad you asked, sir. This is a rather popular charm, because the luck this one provides… will help you find your soulmate."

"W-what?" Hit stammered, face now flushed violet. 

"Yes, this is a wonderful deal for you, and, considering your response, you seem like you might need this one."

"Come on, Hit." Frost teased from the sidelines. "You can't deny it."

"It'll just slip around your neck and-" 

Without a second thought, Hit's lightning fast reflex kicked in and instantly swatted the charm out of Rota's hands. It flew swiftly like a bullet across the room, smacking against the opposite wall. Upon such forceful contact, the wooden block cleanly broke in two, a delayed response to the sheer might of what seemed to be a menial attack.

Rota and Frost could only stare in the awkward silence that claimed the room. The Ice Demon was the first one to break this quiet state with a hushed, "What the hell… was that about?"

"Frost, we're leaving now."

"Yeah, but could you maybe explain why you just-"

Rare frustration and anger showed in Hit's voice. "We're leaving  _ now _ , end of story!" His face was now blushing a bright brilliant fuschia. He grabbed the Ice Demon's wrist and dragged him behind him out the clinic door, taking his folded umbrella with him on the way out.

"I'll see you next month!" Frost quickly called back into the room before turning back to Hit and forcefully freeing his wrist. "What was all of that about? You know, how you just suddenly snapped?"

"I'd rather not speak about it. Just know this…" Hit sighed. "Next time you go here, go by yourself."

The two returned to the apartment in silence, Hit's blush not subsiding… leaving Frost to wonder what had left the assassin so damaged.


	5. Restart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes. Discussion about the plan to assassinate Lord Shiver begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character Name Notes:
> 
> Tsurara - Japanese for “icicle”
> 
> Chayo - Derived from “chayote”, a vegetable part of the gourd family

_ About a week later… _

The planet Daitoshi, still plagued with rain and malicious intent, as always, once known as a certain scoundrel's hiding place…

The scoundrel had never been found by anyone who lived to tell the tale, except by a certain assassin. According to the newspread, the fiendish Frost was dead, having succumbed to the cruelty of nature's course. The law ended its trail of pursuit, knowing that their job had been done for them. 

However, what only Hit knew, having set up this whole affair, was that the paper was inaccurate. The Ice Demon was still alive, under his guidance. The death story was merely to break the trail and allow Frost to be the person he once was, under a false alias.

Now, the planet Daitoshi harbored one who was once a scrounging fugitive, but was now a hero again…

* * *

Mornings were as dark as any other time on the planet of storms, perfect lurking conditions for criminals of any sort. Shady deals in the shadows, hiding from the flashing red and blue lights… or, in the case of a few, daytime robbery. 

Feet dashing in a mad rush disrupted the many puddles that lined the paths, further soiling boots already previously soiled by rainy days. This rush was necessary if they were to get away. 

Two men breezed through the streets, coats hugged close to their bodies to hide their wares. Within the first man's coat hid the greater treasure: a valuable jewel prized by many. It fetched a high price in black markets, provided it made it to such a destination. The valuable jewel was the highly coveted Tiger’s Eye of Hoseki, that minutes ago was majestically displayed in a museum with tight security… or so it was thought to be. The security system had grown lackluster with updating times; even so-called numbskulls such as these desperate looters in need of cash were able to crack it. 

“We’ve really scored now, man.” One man huffed through his mask, a commonplace protection measure employed by some species. “And to believe it was so easy. We’re going to have cash out the arse with this!”

“Yeah, don’t get cocky though. This area’s littered with coppers. We’ll be dead meat if we’re caught now!” The other grunted.

“You lug! We’re gonna be dead anyway if we don’t pay off our debt to Lord Shiv-”

“ _ Pardonnez-moi _ , my dear sirs~” A silky smooth voice interrupted. 

“Eh?”

The men sharply turned around to find a reptilian man, standing beneath the luminous, yet flickering light of a lightpost. His face was partially overshadowed by the hood of his overcoat. However, one could make out a pale blue complexion. One of his eyes, his left, had been wrapped around by a black bandanna. Those who knew his secrets knew this lizard as Frost, but these two desperados only saw him as a hazard.

"Excuse me for being abrupt, but would you kindly give me directions?"

"Oi, buddy." The second man grumbled. "We're kind of busy right now!"

"Oh, don't mind me. I was hoping you could lead me in the right direction, since you two do seem to be heading to the police station already." The shadow over his face hid the knowing smile that formed. 

Confusion was exchanged between the two bandits, nervous sweat accumulating. 

"I presume this because careless thieves such as yourselves should surely throw in the towel if they're caught this early in the game. If I was in your soggy shoes, I'd fork over that jewel in a heartbeat."

Realization pierced the crooks like an archer's arrow, bravado drained. Knobby knees, sudden sweat, the grip on the coat growing tighter…

"Mmm… Yes." Frost's tail flicked about with his soft laughter. "I  _ am  _ quite familiar with your sort of trade. Let me guess. Next, you're going to say 'Oi! How does this one-eyed dingo know about the Tiger's Eye of Hoseki?'" 

"Oi! How does this one-eyed dingo know about the Tiger's Eye of Hose-" The bandit flinched. "Gkk!"

"Like I said, I'm well-versed in this little game. No-good pillagers all have the same set of tricks. The same hand of cards." Frost sighed. "I can bet with no risk that, the way your fingers are grasping, you're keeping the precious item in your inner left coat pocket. Am I correct?" 

There was only a growl in response; he was spot on. "Hey, who the hell do you think you are?"

Strutting out of the faded lamppost glow, the Ice Demon could only laugh. "The name is less important than the business, my dear sirs. Now, if you could kindly make my job easier, you can respectfully head to the police station and turn yourselves in. Easy as cake and no one gets hurt. Okay~?"

The first man further tightened his grip on his coat, as the second came closer with eyes narrowed. "The only one getting hurt today is you, vigilante trash!" He readied a punch, strengthened enough to likely break a meager form such as his. However, Frost had yet another trick up his sleeve.

Hidden in his palm sat a sphere of blackish-purple energy, smoky particles emitting from it. Before the punch could collide, the Ice Demon let it into sight, his lips curling into his characteristic trickster smile. He let it drop without much fanfare to the ground with a satisfying hiss as it burst. The scene was brought into a cloud of the same color. A rather new signature tactic of his: a ki smoke bomb. 

The unmasked man coughed and sputtered, while the other clenched his eyes shut. "Ack! I can't see anything through this smoke!"

"What else is new?!"

While the two men bickered for a bit, all while trying to save their breath, Frost was ever busy, lurking behind their turned backs. He let his tail gently brush along their necks, helping him find them in the smog. He carefully found a sufficient point along the first man's shoulders and took the chance to sting.

_ One down,  _ he mused to himself as the man fell into a defeated state of unconsciousness.

"Hey! What happened, man? I can't see you in the smog!" The second man, hearing his partner fall, called out. "Where are y-" He was cut off by a stinging sensation in his shoulder blade, falling to the ground with the same satisfying thump. 

_ And two… _ Frost smirked as the cloud subsided. He brushed the imaginary dust off of his hands, looking over his job well done, the two grunts overlapping each other in one heap.

"Now, how to clean up the mess? I can't just let 'em lay there." He mulled over the situation. "Before the cops arrive, they'll be looted and I'll have to start all over." As he thought this over, he noticed the flicker of that faulty lamplight again. Considering its height and hooked architecture… he had an idea and his expression curled.

He gently tethered the unconscious crooks by their hoods to a hook on either side of the post. Being nowhere near the height of the structure, he had to fly upward and feel the chilly breeze of pleasant adrenaline again. "There we go. You two can  _ hang  _ around until the cops arrive." He chuckled a bit to himself until silence claimed the scene again. "Wish someone was around to hear that."

Casting the matter aside, he continued his flight into the sky, his job done for the time being. Crime that a simple vigilante was needed for was surprisingly scarce, but plentiful enough to keep him slightly entertained, even if the high quickly subsided. 

Sluggishly, he yawned. It had been a long and tiring morning for him already, having risen quite early to make his rounds. He pushed back his sleeve, looking at his wrist. Faded from the moist air were the remnants of a note he had written on his scales in marker ink: a general ETA time to arrive back at the apartment by before Hit left for work.

He had to squint slightly to make it out, then he turned his head to scout for one of the city's many neon sign boards that displayed the time at regular intervals. Having no watch, he needed to see one to compare.

Upon catching sight of one, his eye widened at the time. "Dammit! At this rate, I've missed breakfast." He whined, using the rain to swipe off the remaining ink. He pushed his cuff back and continued through the sky. "And Hit was making eggs today…"

The air flowed across his body as he continued his flight back to the apartment, rain striking through his course. Even if Hit had left already, he could probably forage for something for breakfast, even if it wasn't as satisfying as a home cooked meal. 

His stomach growled in agreement as he grew closer to the apartment ahead, reciting directions to himself. "Okay, it's Diamond Plaza, fifth story, third one in on the left side of the building." He scoured for a moment, finally catching sight of the area. "Ah, bingo." He landed on the respective fire escape and slid open the sliding door that connected the small shaded balcony to the kitchen interior, slipping inside. He pulled down his hood and shuffled his boots on the kitchen mat to avoid tracking any mud.

Surprisingly, Hit's voice came from the dining room table. Shouldn't he have been at work already? Perhaps then he hadn't missed the morning breakfast. "You know, I  _ did  _ give you a front door key for a reason." The assassin rolled his eyes. He was seated at the table, browsing through the daily papers, particularly focused on the weekly crossword and tapping a mechanical push pencil to the page in thought.

"Yeah, but where's the fun in that? Besides, that elevator isn't getting any faster." The Ice Demon sighed, closing the door behind him and meeting his assassin housemate at the table, lazily slumping in the chair. "How come you're still home? I'd think you'd be off to work by now and…" He sniffed the air briefly. "Did you make eggs all for yourself and not save me any?"

"There's been a bit of a schedule change for today. I'm heading in a bit later than usual." With a brief smirk, he added, "And the eggs were delicious. But, other than that, how's your morning been, Tsurara?"

"Pardon?"

"Your name, remember? Your new vigilante name we gave you since you're supposed to be dead according to the press. You even picked that name out yourself." Hit rolled his eyes yet again, his pencil quickly scratching along the crossword as he filled in a column of downward boxes.

Frost leaned back on the chair with a sigh. "Please, just spare my tired brain and just keep calling me 'Frost' behind closed doors, alright?"

"Alright then." The assassin continued. "Anyways, I once again ask how your morning was."

The Ice Demon groaned at the thought. "Exhausting so far… You'd think that museum would learn to beef up security when the same artifact gets swiped right under their noses two times in a five-day span."

"The Tiger's Eye again?"

"Yes, exactly. These crimes have gotten so repetitive that I've been able to study their whole playbook and it hasn't even been two weeks… I feel like a maid who has to keep cleaning up the same messes." He yawned and leaned back on the chair again. "Also, thirty-four across is 'absolved', by the way."

"Wow, for being down an eye and dog-tired, you sure are pretty good at solving my crossword…" Hit paused with a glare. ".....out of order." He begrudgingly verified the answer and filled in thirty-four across. "Speaking of which, how long have you been up?"

"Since about four AM, I think. I'm not a morning person, if you couldn't tell, but crime doesn't sleep, supposedly. All I've discovered is that crime in the self-proclaimed 'crime capital' is surprisingly rare… How do  _ you  _ get so much work here?"

"Well, a lot of the activity here is not stuff that's seen by the plain eye. The big overarching conspiracies and underground trade is what gives this place its title." The assassin folded the newspaper and set it back down on the table. "Mainly the stuff that's nefarious enough that someone like me has to step in. Don't be surprised if your few calls to action as a mere street vigilante are quite repetitive."

"Should've told me that  _ earlier _ … Before I started ruining my sleep schedule..." Frost grumpily rolled his one eye. 

"I never told you to get up at four in the morning, but sorry for getting your hopes up for some more action." He rose from the table and closed his open jacket. Already ahead of the game, his coattails had been clipped on previously. His undershirt color of choice today was a very dark gray, darker than his coat and borderline black. "And speaking of action, we should be heading in pretty soon…" Hit glanced at his watch. 

"Alright, I'll leave you to it." The lizard stretched to relax in the dining chair. He slipped his arms out of his coat sleeves, letting it fall to the chair. "I'll just be here, reclaiming those three lost hours~" However, before he could fully close his right eye, Hit spoke up again.

"Perhaps you didn't hear me right. I said that  _ we  _ should be heading out."

"I heard you. You mean the royal we, correct?"

"No, I meant 'we' as in 'you're coming along too'." The assassin had stepped behind the Arcosian's seat and attempted to slip him back into the sleeves before the lizard quickly took over from there. 

"And  _ why _ exactly am I?" Frost begrudgingly rose from the chair and smoothed down the folds on his jacket. "If it's because you don't trust me here alone anymore, you clearly learned nothing from the past week. You can obviously tell the apartment hasn't burned down."

"It's nothing to worry about. We're running on limited business hours today to have a planning meeting for a bigger assignment and I believe you could be a source of intel that could be of use to the mission." Hit responded with a sigh, fetching his boots from their usual post beside the door and slipping them on. "I don't know how much you were eavesdropping that night that Frigid called, but we're dealing with a man by the name of Lord Shiver. He's rather low-profile off of his native planet, so I believe you could provide us with some vital information."

Hopefully unnoticed by Hit, Frost flinched at his father's name. He thought the assassin had already disposed of him. However, it did make sense that such a major target would require an extensive planning stage. Finally responding, he gulped. "W-why do you say that, Hit?"

"I figured you would be knowledgeable considering," There was a brief moment's hesitation, but it was quick enough to escape detection. "You're of the same species and I'm assuming you've heard of him from your time on the same home planet. We need all the data we can get and I don't trust about half the people on Daitoshi to give useful information."

"Understandable…" Though reassured, his voice still quivered. He breathed a sigh of relief when Hit turned his head away, trying to control the persisting nerves in his voice. "And… this meeting? I'm guessing  _ ta chérie  _ will be in attendance?

"What?" Hit turned back in confusion, but instantly realized what he meant upon seeing the teasing look in his eye, his own eyes narrowing in response. "Oh. Yes, Frigid will be in. No, she is  _ not _ my girlfriend, for the last time."

"The more times you get defensive, the less convincing your argument gets." The Ice Demon teased in a sing-song voice. 

Hit sighed heavily in response before setting the matter aside. "Let's just get going already… Do you need breakfast for the road?"

Frost's tail swished in a happy response. "Would it be asking too much if I requested some eggs like you had without me?"

"Yes, actually. We've lost enough time already, I'm not wasting more time on a full meal you'll probably devour in a matter of seconds anyway." The assassin crossed back over to the other side of the apartment to the kitchen space. He opened a small bread box on the counter and pulled out an item. "Plain bagel. There's your option."

Frost begrudgingly took the bagel without dispute, but still mumbled in disappointment. "This is really all you've got…"

"Well, it's the quickest option we have. I don't intend to keep Frigid waiting for much longer." Hit simply shrugged. "But, hey, don't think of it as an ordinary bagel. Think of it as the doughnut's older cousin who works in accounting."

"Whatever you say…" The Ice Demon scoffed, mouth full of breakfast. “Still a plain dry bagel no matter what interesting backstory you give it.”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. It could be much worse. You could have nothing.”

“Yes, I know firsthand. That was a week ago, tops.” As he followed Hit’s strides back over to the door, he bit off yet another piece. “But, now, everything’s fine. I don’t intend to return to that life anytime soon.”

“I swear to whatever deity will listen, if you even  _ think  _ of going rogue again after all I’ve done for you, I would personally make sure I got your contract in an instant, even if I have to hire myself.” The assassin grumbled in response. 

“Pfft… Don’t get ahead of yourself, tough guy…” Frost teased, the signature look of plotting returning to his gaze.

“Just remember to turn the light off behind you.”

The Ice Demon simply nodded as he followed the assassin out of the apartment door, making sure to retrieve the black umbrella from the small holder by the door, taking it by its intricate wood handle. Most days, Hit left without it, heading about his business with no protection from the elements. Whether it was forgetfulness, an endurance exercise, or the assassin being just plain cocky, Frost served as one of the factors that made sure he didn’t leave it at home. 

He used the tip of the umbrella to push back the dimmer switch to ‘off’ with Hit following up by closing the door and locking it. They continued through the hall in near silence and readied their descent into the heart of the city.

* * *

Hit's office was a place Frost hadn't hoped to pass by anytime soon… at least when he was a runaway fighting nature for his life. Now, however, no longer having to fear the threat of becoming his next target, the assassin's place of business still didn't seem the most desirable place to lurk, but it was better than cowering before it.

To Frost's surprise, the place was rather humbly nestled in the outskirts of the city's core tangle of streets. As Hit explained, the business was kept on the subtle side. The address number was the only thing that distinguished this particular office as the assassin's, and even that information was given on a need to know basis.

Hit carefully pushed the door open, gently rattling the small bell that hung in the doorway. It had been long used over many years, so its tinny ringing sounded rather weak and defeated. 

"We're here." He announced, breaking Frost's focus away from where it had redirected itself. The Ice Demon took the closed umbrella back from the assassin and shook it out.

The main lobby area was rather dim, which was to be expected of an establishment with such an intimidating aura. Two black leather couches, forming some degree of comfort in such a place, bordered a low table. Perhaps this was for clients in waiting. 

In the corner was positioned a wire coat hanger and a metallic umbrella stand. A delicate, yet warm-looking plush coat hung by its wool lined hood, its half-heart clasps dangling. A dark parasol with a designer handle and embroidered flowers on the rims rested in the stand. Clearly, these belonged to Hit's "female assistant".

"Nice place here for this being the hub of murder dealings…" Frost mused, taking in the intricacies of the room as he deposited the umbrella in the caddy.

"Don't get all caught up in this room, this is just the waiting area." Hit subtly motioned towards the door leading into the main office. "We try to keep this space a bit cozy. Not everyone is so confident when it comes to enlisting my services in person."

"I'm presuming this issue made up your reasoning for hiring a woman like Frigid?" Frost inquired, sliding out of his coat and hanging it up next to the plush one. His shed coat revealed a deep navy button-up shirt, the top button purposefully undone and a thin belt around the middle. Despite being well fed during the past week, he was still overly thin, the belt helping his shirts fit closer to his body.

"Well, that was  _ part _ of the reason…"

"And I'm guessing-"

"No, before you say it, the other reason is  _ not  _ because she's my girlfriend." Hit bluntly interrupted. "I'm going to have to have you refrain from making such jokes while we're here."

The assassin gave a quick head motion to signal Frost to follow him. He stepped forward and pushed open the office area door, which was already open a crack. 

The office area was somewhat more well lit than the waiting area. The main furnishing of the room was a central desk, two seats on one side and a single one on the other, though two likely artificial plants that couldn't get sun also flanked the doorway. Despite the artificial nature of the plants, a floral aroma still claimed the room. Lavender, if Frost's assumption was correct. After looking around, he noticed small sticks of incense gently burning by the window. 

Shelves of files adorned the walls, but positioned at one of these shelves, standing atop a small collapsible step stool was a delicate figure. They were dutifully scanning the shelf to make sure everything was in order, humming to themselves. Swishing about carefree was their black-clothed tail…

_ Wait. _

Sure enough, there was a gently batting tail following the graceful figure donning glittering turquoise biogems.

"You failed to inform me that she was an  _ Arcosian _ …" Frost whispered to Hit, eye narrowed.

"Yeah, I just never said it because it wasn't relevant to mention." 

"Of course it's  _ relevant _ . It's  _ completely  _ relevant."

The two were interrupted by the woman's voice, with both a mellow sweetness and the crisp tone of a city-raised accent. "Ah, you're back, Hit. You've sure made a lady wait~"

She stepped down from the small ladder, facing Hit with a cocky side smile. Her scales were a mellow pale gray and the biogem encapsulating her head shone light off of its turquoise-colored surface like a gemstone. Her eyes were like freshly picked red currants. Speckling the cheeks beneath were small diamond-shaped gems, a trait like freckles common in females of the species. 

A long scarf of black silk, coiled in a large loop, was wrapped around her shoulders. Beneath this was a wool cardigan of the same color, fastened in the middle with a gold-colored button and in turn guarding a long-tarnished white blouse. Her skirt was made of a dark leather and her legs and tail donned leggings in a similar vein to Frost's own, the only difference being their black color. Her boots had slight heels, likely to bring her at least somewhat closer to Hit's height- she was downright dainty compared to the assassin. She wore no makeup and her nails were in various states of being broken, but, considering how they were kept, she didn't mind them.

This woman… was Frigid.

In this sole moment, a single thought buzzed in Frost’s mind.  _ Gods, Hit really scored himself a good one. _

"There's only so much organizing and reorganizing all your old files I can take when stalling for time. For a man with a time-based ability, I'd expect you'd be more punctual, hmm?" Frigid's hips seem to twist, a hint of playfulness in her eyes, reflected in the motion of her tail as well. 

"Well, I'm sorry, Frigid, but I told you before that I was planning to bring an extra resource to aid in our strategy, remember? If anyone's to blame for me being late, it's  _ him _ . He's not all too easy to get a hold of." Hit sighed at the thought of the newly sporadic Frost. 

"Relax, hon." The Arcosian woman giggled softly. "Just a mere tease…That's all." Frost couldn't help but notice how her tail moved, brushing along the assassin's kneecaps, as if to soothe him. In light of this, Hit remained levelheaded, his cheeks only a subtle shade darker with blush.

"Hmph." Hit smirked in response, smug confidence trying to outweigh the faint flush claiming his face to avoid Frost's attention from being drawn to it. "You always were fond of those, weren't you?" With a sigh, he changed the subject. "Anyhow, did you take care of those preparations I asked you to attend to?"

The woman nodded. "Of course I did, and even with time to spare. Our client, 'R', checked back in while you were out, so I went ahead and took the call for you. She reiterated that there was no pressure to dispose of Lord Shiver and gave no fixed time limit, so…"

"She?"

Frigid jolted upright, her tail sweeping across Hit's knees. "Oh. Yes. I… merely assumed from their voice that they were female. That's all."

"Alright. And did you also take care of the-"

"Yep! Yep. Everything's been taken care of, sir!" Frigid jumped the trigger as her tail swished about, a mixture of happiness and pride, once again brushing along the assassin's legs. Any one person would think that the tail was merely fluttering about on its own and its touch to Hit was coincidental, but Frost had a gut feeling that these movements were intentional.

"I even took care of some extra activities for you. I made sure the parlor palms in the entrance were routinely watered, I made sure your files were well tidied…" She listed activities off on her jagged nailed fingers. "I even prepared some tea-" She cut herself off. "Dammit, I forgot to check on the tea… I'll be right back."

Frigid darted off to a small side room, surprisingly speedy for a lady in heels. This left the two men alone yet again.

"So…" Frost finally spoke up again. "Did you hire an assistant or a  _ maid _ ?"

Hit simply grunted. "She's not a maid, Frost. She's just passionate about what she does, even if it's just keeping an eye out for things. Plus, tea is said to ease the nerves and soothe the brain, so she believes it will be beneficial to such a meeting as this."

"Seems overly wholesome for a business such as this." The Ice Demon sighed. He prepared to seat himself in a chair next to the one Hit selected on one side of the desk, but the disapproving look and the redirecting of his irises towards a daintier chair likely reserved for clients on the other side told him that that seat was spoken for. He spoke up again as he corrected his position. 

"Not to question your choice in a  _ petit chou _ , but she doesn't exactly seem the type to willingly be a part of these sorts of affairs. In such a risky business, an innocent city girl might get eaten alive by much more fearsome tigers. A bit of spunk might carry her farther, but not far enough."

Hit simply let out another 'hmph', a smug smirk returning. "Well, I hope for your sake you never get on her bad side. She may not look the part, but she can very well take care of herself if need be." He assured Frost. "Ask to see that switchblade of hers, if you don’t believe me."

Frost's remaining eye sprung open. "Wait, her what-"

"The tea's ready~" Frigid reentered the main office with a warbling tone. "Hope you boys are thirsty, I made plenty~" She carried a rather simplistic tea tray topped with a rather charming tea set. A trio of cups were filled with fresh steaming tea. A pleasant aroma emanated from the set; from deduction, it was likely earl grey.

"And don't think I've forgotten our little  _ guest  _ today. I don't believe we've been formally introduced." She turned toward Frost. "Hit probably already told you about me, I'm Frigid. And you are..." She trailed off and went silent as her red eyes, which were wide open with slowly shrinking pupils, met Frost's singular eye. She looked like a deer caught in the headlights. 

"...Miss? … _ Mademoiselle _ ?" Frost inquired of the no longer responding Frigid. "Are you… alright?" He reluctantly turned to an equally concerned Hit. "Hit, what's going on? Did I break her or something?"

Slowly out of her hands began to slip the tea tray, tipping and threatening to spill the cups. Noticing the slight shift as it happened, Hit's heightened reflex kicked in, quickly propping the tray back up. 

Frigid popped back into reality with a flinch and a brief squeak. Her tail reached for her belt, likely an instinctive reach for a weapon out of fear. Her eyes briefly darted about and she sighed as she gained her bearings again. "Sorry. I'm, uh, fine, sir."

"Great, you haven't even been in the same room five minutes and you've already managed to spook her." The assassin glared at Frost. 

"Hey, I didn't even do anything!"

"Oh, don't get yourself worked up about it, Hit. It's just…" There was a rather noticeable pause after. "You didn't tell me it was his  _ eye  _ that was injured." She set the tray down on the desk gently.

"Oh, right." A touch of realization filled Frost's remaining eye. "I've gotten so used to it being gone that I forget not everyone's accustomed to it…"

"Trust me, you get used to one eye looking back at you rather than two." Hit affirmed. "At least he has the bandanna to cover it up."

"But, it's just astonishing how it can just be… gone in a flash. You poor darling… How does this sort of thing happen-"

"Touchy subject." Frost and Hit answered in unison.

"Understood," The woman nodded. "I'm very sorry that that happened to you, Mister…" She drew out the last word, realizing she never got the Arcosian male's name.

"Oh. It's Frost, miss."

"Technically, he's Tsurara outside of these private spaces, since he's  _ supposed  _ to be dead according to the press." A subtle eye roll came from the assassin.

"Cut me a break, Hit…"

"Either way, you have a very beautiful name, darling~" Frigid giggled before sighing. "But, anyhow… we'd best not dally further. Let's get on with the meeting, shall we, gentlemen?" She seated herself next to Hit and her tail folded itself into her lap. 

"Alright then," Frost mused. He took one of the teacups from the tray and sipped in some of the warm brew. He couldn't help but notice that Hit was subtly dealing out a few sugars from the dish into his own cup. "What's the first order of business?"

"Well, to begin, we'll need a general idea of the target's whereabouts. I'm presuming, since he's low-profile except for on his home planet, Arcos would be the best place to look." He jotted down a few notes in a small planner-sized journal and paused with a sip of his tea. "I'm guessing you two would have a general idea of the basic climate and locales where Shiver could be lurking, yes?"

Frost tried not to visibly flinch at the name again. Meanwhile, Frigid's tail left her lap and had straightened as straight as a pin. He had reason to fear his father's name in this scenario. Despite his recent reformation, he was still held on a tight leash on thin ice. He did not want to have any ties to this assignment. But… Why was  _ she  _ so panicked?

The few seconds of silence that felt like a cold bitter minute were cut through by Hit speaking up again. "Either of you want to start us off?"

Frigid's tail had been alleviated of its tension when she responded. "I don’t intend to bring you further down this way, but, I’d prefer to remain silent on this matter." Her eyes seemed to look elsewhere. "I’m not… fond of revisiting the past, especially because of..." She briefly nudged at a point on her neck. “You know.”

"Ah. I see. Well, thankfully for you, we have an extra resource." Hit's rose red irises shot over to Frost. "If you would, Frost, could you fill me in on some of these details?"

"Well… I…" Frost was starting to fumble for words a bit. "I wouldn't call myself the  _ best  _ resource on the matter. I haven't seen that planet's surface in five years, my description may be lackluster." 

Somewhat of a half truth. If his daydreams told him anything, his memory was quite vivid. He could fulfill Hit's first request and describe the planet without much issue. He was merely trying to avoid giving away his association through describing Shiver's common dwelling. 

"It's quite alright, darling." Frigid simply smiled. "It's been a long time for me as well, since I left my… past lover. I'm probably no better than you." Her smile briefly vanished at the mention of her past, but it reappeared soon after, likely to dissuade the others from worrying about her. This only made Frost feel that there was a reason to worry. 

The Ice Demon sighed in near resignation. "Well, I can give you the best I have." His uncovered eye closed as he began to mentally recall his once home planet.

"I've told you this before, Hit, but Arcosians are highly tolerant of heat, and that shows in the planet's climate. It's a hot desert planet, but it has its palms and oases, so it's not pure pillowy sand and dry heat. 

The planet is mostly made up of small cities, known for their marketplaces. They often build around an oasis, for resources."

He breathed. He left out the details that weren't important to the objective, about trivial pleasures to the senses. The breath of contentment was also one of relief. He could get through this. He wouldn't have to say anything about his father- 

"And, do you know anything about where the target may be lurking in this area?"

Frost's eye flew back open with a jolt. Words buzzed about the Ice Demon's mind and they were all some degree of swear. This was the part he feared.

"It's fine if you don't have anything." The assassin shrugged slightly. "I can get other intel elsewhere if need be."

He seemed nonchalant about all of this, brushing it off. But, it seemed to Frost that the intel he could give was quite vital. Plus, trustworthy word of mouth was often a rarity on such a planet as this one. It would be unlikely that he could scout out anything except through him. 

Most importantly, Hit needed this information in order to kill his father. His  _ damned  _ old father... 

It was risky, but he supposed he could spare a tip.

"No, I'm… fine. I can give you the info you need." He sighed in resignation. "I've only heard of this place, but," He made sure to remove any possibility of connection. "I've heard he dwells in a rather large residence in the planet's north. It blends in almost like any other place, but it's overshadowed by many trees. I've heard no one goes in and rarely does anyone go out."

Frost knew this last fact all too well. It was a perpetuating mystery that lasted the fifteen years he had lived at home, but for some reason unknown to the young boy, his father was insistent on keeping him out of sight and indoors. Whatever the reason, he had begrudgingly agreed to his rarely seen father’s terms and was bribed into compliance with the threat of his father’s wrath and the reward of a bubblegum cigar at the end of the week and a passing smile from the ever busy man.

The confinement was hardly ideal, Frost in his youth often complaining about being unable to go outside and play with children his age. He did not gain as much heat from the sun’s natural light due to this arrangement, often getting sick more often and having to rely on stray beams of sunshine penetrating the leaves of the cold and unyielding shade trees or the artificial warmth of an electric blanket in order to not keel over from the lack of heat to his body.

Fifteen years he stayed locked away and only when he had been fully groomed into a fake vigilante was he able to see life from outside of a window. A stranger to the outside, yet blending in as if he had known it all of his life. His mother had taught him of the world he would one day breathe in and groomed him into a gentleman… while his father taught him to fight, exploit, and nothing else.

Nothing good became of his father’s teachings and Frost believed he’d best leave the topic before his mind ran away from him. 

“Well, I appreciate your compliance…” Hit’s voice brought him back to reality as he scrawled down notes. His penmanship wasn’t unbearable, but he strongly favored condensed cursive. Frost was no stranger to cursive writing, even occasionally using it himself, but, when tightly squeezed like the assassin’s handwriting, it took him a few seconds to realize what he was trying to write. However, what mattered was that Hit was able to read his own notes on the page and Frost was not going to argue with that. “I know that living in the presence of a scumbag such as Shiver can be tough on you.”

There was a pause that lasted no more than a second as Hit caught his words. “On the same planet, I mean.”

Meanwhile, Frigid had been sitting back and listening. Frost, however, couldn’t help but notice that her expression had slightly soured. Beneath the table, her tail was fidgeting. She finally spoke up after a period of silence. “Hit, I don’t mean to put a damper on things, but could we kindly wrap things up? Or, uh, at least let me leave the room for a bit...”

“Of course.” The assassin nodded lightly, taking a sip of tea. “I know you can’t stand thinking about Arcos, so I can get the rest of the details from Frost later on-”

“No, it’s not about Arcos this time… It’s just… Shiver in general is kind of a rigid subject.”

“According to the information we had pre-established, Lord Shiver’s a major mafia factor, correct? I know being of the same species and home planet makes it hit closer to home, but you’ve never been uncomfortable with talking about any of my targets before. We’ve dealt with mafias in the past haven’t we?” Hit’s tone filled with rare concern, skepticism in his gaze.

“He’s a  _ womanizer _ , Hit.” The Arcosian woman simply scoffed. Her fingers subtly rubbed at her neck, as if seeking a long healed wound that began to ache again. Again, Frost’s curiosity was piqued by what element of her past was damaging her. “No woman on the planet is a stranger to that harem he’s running. It’s an ever persistent threat to us all that we may one day become his next  _ doll _ .”

“Oh. I didn’t realize-”

“It only proves to show that nothing good ever came from Shiver. It’s a wonder you’ve only now received a request...” She sighed, her voice almost reduced to a low growl.

At that line, Frost's uncovered red iris shrank. Sure, she didn't know of his bloodline- she was just a woman he had just met- but her rather presumptuous assertion felt like thorns raking against the walls of his heart.

He took in this thought in silence as Hit and Frigid continued on with a few business details- irrelevant to him, as he zoned them out without hesitancy. It was probably an overly broad statement and no one in the room but himself could attest that he was the son of the assassin's next target, but it still indirectly hurt. 

He wondered if good _could_ come from such a fiendish source… Would he even be _able_ to be successful as a vigilante after being long tainted by his father's ideology…?

Thankfully, his paranoia was cut off as the phone ringing snapped him back into reality. His iris flooded back full of color. He’d put the matter aside for now.

“Tch…” Hit begrudgingly picked up. “I thought I made the change in hours  _ clear _ … It’d better be important for all it’s worth.”

“Another assignment on top of this one?” 

“Most likely. Hopefully a small one.” He stepped to the side with the cordless office phone to take the call. After his initial introductory muttering of “Hit, speaking.”, he only responded briefly each time with blank and unphased replies of confirmation, some merely grunts rather than words. 

As Hit proceeded with the call at hand, the scene returned to its awkward silence. The cup of tea set in front of Frost was still hot and half-full, the aroma tempting his senses. He might as well not let it go to waste by letting it go cold and unfinished. As he took a smooth sip of the earl grey, the Ice Demon couldn’t help but notice the expectant gaze in Frigid’s doe-like eyes from over the rim.

He cut into the piercing quiet by finally speaking up. “The tea is wonderful, if that’s the answer you were looking for.” 

Surprisingly, the woman jolted upright in surprise. “O-oh… Was I... staring?”

"Kind of, but it's not really an issue." He shrugged it off. "It's fi-"

"No… I'm sorry. You just looked familiar to me." Her eyes were now averted. "I guess I'm kidding myself… I won't do it again, darling…" She sent the room into silence once more. Her tail tapped anxiously against the base of the chair. 

Once again, he was skeptical.  _ How did he look familiar to her? Few in this universe had seen his Final Form and a sizable percent of them did not live to testify. _

Frost’s attempts to connect any possible dots were once again interrupted, as Hit soon after returned to the desk and promptly hung up the phone. “It seems we’ve been given a hot tip for another one of our assignments. It seems that that lowly smuggling ring leader that we got the contract for yesterday has finally turned up.” He responded in his usual unwavering tone. Clearly, this assignment was a rather minor one and one that Hit hoped to get over with as soon as possible. “He’s apparently lurking around the bar around the Emerald District, near where that quack witch doctor ‘friend’ of Frost’s is set up. I can probably slip in real easy to secure the kill.”

The Ice Demon let out the faintest ‘tch’ to counter the eye roll that was paired with Hit’s skeptical mention of Rota before responding. “Now, you say he’s in a  _ bar? _ ”

“Yeah. What about it?”

“Not to question a criminal’s daily life, but isn’t it far too early to start drinking?” He asked, before adding, “Not that I would know about that sort of thing.”

“Well, clearly you haven’t been here long enough to understand. This planet’s cityfront has a saying,” Hit explained. “‘It’s five o’clock somewhere…’” Frigid had also pitched in with the same quote in near unison, her eyes lighting up a bit when she did.

“Hmph, jinx. Looks like you owe me…”

“Another drink…” Hit finished, inevitably syncing with his assistant’s words. “The jinxes cancel out, no one owes anyone anything.”

“You always do that…” Frigid sighed, trying to brush off her foiled tease. “But, anyhow… how do we know this isn’t a trap?”

“I’ll be fine. Even if a trap is sprung on me, I’ve gotten out of worse fixes than nobodies could possibly craft.” His slight smile was confident, yet had the same strange cockiness as well.

“I still think you should have someone there as…  _ backup _ , you know?” Frost thought he was the one with the signature sneaky glance, but Frigid, sure enough, was shooting her own at Hit, a bit of flirtatiousness mixed within it- once again sending Frost’s mind back to the back and forth debate of whether something  _ was  _ happening beneath the table.

“Well, I can probably use Frost’s assistance. Maybe to make sure the target doesn’t run away on us.”

Frigid’s shoulders slumped on this note. Frost could have sworn he heard a low growl of “That’s not what I meant…” come from underneath her breath. 

Upon hearing this, the assassin simply sighed. “I know you’re capable of handling the task, but my main concern is that… in such a maliciously driven city, there are more heinous things any of those damned detestable bar patrons would willingly do to a woman than they would a man. I only ask you to step back for your safety.”

“I can take care of  _ myself _ , Hit…” A growl formed in her throat as she rose to her feet to meet Hit’s eyes at a much closer level. Her tail was fumbling around her belt aimlessly. Frost presumed from her prior defensive reaction that it was likely trying to find the sheath of the switchblade he heard that she owned, but, considering its hopeless movements, the weapon probably wasn’t clipped to her belt at the moment. 

“I know, I know, Frigid. It’s only the fact that I can’t risk you getting caught off guard. I’m making sure you don’t get hurt or…” The assassin sighed, his shoulders tensing, clearly distraught by whatever bleak thought currently plagued him. “...worse.” He finished after a slight pause, dodging the bullet. “So,  _ please  _ understand…”

Frigid finally sighed in resignation. “Fine, if you don’t need me on this task…” She slumped back into her chair. “I’ll just hold the fort. You might as well finish your tea first or it’ll be cold when you get back.”

Seeming to be on thin ice with the woman, Hit simply nodded slightly and drank from his cup, already significantly depleted from intermittent drinks during the meeting. Frost followed suit, only to realize just how much was left. He felt guilty about leaving so much left over, so he attempted to guzzle down the rest quickly. Unfortunately, the Ice Demon not only succeeded in finishing the remainder of the tea within one bold swig, but also proved successful in burning the roof of his mouth, a fact he tried to muster through. 

As they departed from the office area, a wordless exchange was shared between the assassin and his assistant: a mere nod responded to a dismissing flick of the latter’s tail. The shift was jarring, supplying Frost with further questions on the status of their relationship.

After a brief silence, Frost, still attempting to quell the tingling burn in his mouth, turned to Hit. “I’m sorry my presence caused you to have a little  _ marital spat _ back there.”

Hit only sighed, passing the Ice Demon’s coat to him from the rack. “Don’t call it that, please.”

* * *

There was a minute claimed by dead silence as the two continued along the streets of central Daitoshi towards the Emerald District bar. It was eerie. Even though Hit was the quiet type, Frost feared that he had done something wrong to put him into a state of deeper silence. 

If Hit wouldn’t talk to him, the Ice Demon supposed he would occupy himself with the sounds of the city. Rain created ripples within the already existing puddles lining the gutter-like canals flanking the paths. The traffic signal pinged daintily, yet loud enough to be heard over the rain. An unusual form of city charm. However, amidst this atmospheric charm, a far cry from a commoner’s picturesque scenic scape, but home nonetheless, came an all too familiar siren’s chirp.

It seemed to switch on an old dormant instinct that remained within him, as he immediately let out a quick yip of panic and proceeded to dart for the nearest cover- in this case, the looming shadow of the much taller assassin. 

“Relax,” Hit finally spoke up. He didn’t even turn to Frost, but still knew that he was trying to duck out of sight from the sudden presence behind his back. “They’re on  _ your  _ side now, remember? You don’t need to hide yourself anymore.”

Exhaling in relief, the Ice Demon relaxed his tensed muscles and left his hiding spot. Why had he done that? He felt ridiculous still cowering like a runaway after taking on redemption. “Dammit, I still must have some sort of gut instinct left in me. Damn Pavlov.” He steadied his breathing. “ _ I’m a good person, I’m a good person… _ ” Frost recited to himself under his breath.

Hit noticed this and immediately commented. “She didn’t mean for that to be directed at you. She didn’t know, that’s all.”

Frost turned to the assassin in confusion. “Huh?”

“You know, the whole ‘Nothing good ever came from Shiver’ comment? Frigid didn’t know. It was kind of presumptuous, I know, but she was a bit on edge.”

On this note, he stopped dead in his tracks.  _ Why was he tying that comment to him? He had never been told that he was related to Lord Shiver. Unless… Did he… know?  _ “Excuse me?” was his only response, his voice cracking due to nerves.

For a split second, the Arcosian heard Hit cuss under his breath. “We should be arriving there real soon. Should we go over your diversion plan?” The assassin quickly changed the subject. “That sounds good. Let’s go over your diversion plan.”

The sudden change of topic was jarring and awfully suspicious. Frost had to admit, the assassin was pretty adept at trying to draw him away from the matter at hand. His voice did not waver in the slightest, trying his hardest to keep level headed and avoid suspicion. However, he was not flawless. He was speaking somewhat faster than usual and, when the Arcosian looked over, he noticed a small droplet on the side of his face and debated whether it was rain or nervous sweat.

Frost sighed, begrudgingly having to confirm his heavily backed suspicions. “You know who my father is, don’t you, Hit? No playing dumb again.”

There was a brief pause and a hushed breath to go along with it. “Yes. I know that you’re the son of Lord Shiver of Arcos. I overheard you that night Frigid called in. I thought I had been hearing things at the time, but I pieced it together when I realized you were spectating.”

Despite his previous nerves over this secret, he couldn’t help but smirk. “You little eavesdropping sneak.”

“It takes one to know one.” The assassin shrugged.

“Hmph,  _ touché _ , assassin.  _ Touché _ .” His voice was breaking to the point of hysterics. How foolishly he struggled to keep a secret that had already long been leaked to the assassin.  _ How foolish indeed!  _ Shaken laughter completely took over his voice. He was  _ foolish, foolish, foolish _ .

“Control yourself. This changes nothing.” Hit brushed it off before the Arcosian could absolutely lose it. “Just know that no matter how strong your personal feelings are, it will not stop me from securing this target, got it?”

“Oh, go right ahead.” The nerves in the Ice Demon’s voice vanished, his reason returning. “Kill that man’s sorry ass. See if I care.”

On the contrary, Frost really did care whether his father lived or perished at the assassin’s hand, leaning more towards the “perish” side. After thinking it over, he realized all of his struggles linked back to one central point. His damned father… The one who bred him into a money-driven wolf in vigilante’s clothing. He would have never regretted the vigilante lifestyle, but the underlying secrecy and villainy greatly soured the deal. One mistake tore the curtain of whimsy and trickery, revealing the bitter truth. He lost everything in that instant.

_ Including Cabba. _

His father, never there for him, only succeeded in creating a monstrous heartbreaker. He saw that as plenty of reason for the man to be dead to him.

“Now that we’re clear on that… You can feel more comfortable to spill any details to me without incriminating yourself. Any info could be of benefit to this mission.”

“W-well…” He was stuttering slightly. “He’s tall… and… blue.” Frost’s voice was once again cracking under the pressure that was placed on him.

“I guess I can’t say that  _ wasn’t  _ helpful. But, I was curious if you had any details about his inner workings. Weaknesses? Resources? Anything of the sort?”

“Well, weaknesses… He smokes a lot, so I guess you could pull off a slow kill…?”

“Be serious, please. Maybe we could try and identify some of his supply chains in an attempt to lower his defense. Any intel on that?”

A brief moment’s silence hung in the air before he spoke up again. “I’m afraid that is private business.”

“Private business? Did he swear you to secrecy or something? It’s in the past. You’re a new person. He will never know.”

“No. It’s just private business.”

“You’re really insistent on not giving me anything here. Is it that after all this time you still don’t trust me?”

Suddenly, something snapped within Frost. “Or, maybe it's because I was  _ sheltered _ ,  _ okay _ ?!” He retorted, his tail flicking fast in frustration.

Regaining his composure, he sighed. "I never knew what my father's business was until recently. My mother always made sure to keep me out of it, telling me it was 'father's private business'. I was the son of a fiend, yet she made sure I grew up right. So, that meant I couldn’t go outside or even see my father during the day, all to assure that I did not learn of his business and be corrupted by his influence." He laughed briefly. "Heh, guess it wasn't enough. I still ended up so twisted anyway."

"I'm sorry to bring up bad memories, but I'm kind of surprised how his  _ harem  _ wasn't a tip off."

His lone eye widened as he realized. "'Female associates'? How the hell did I fall for that?"

Hit tried to suppress a quick laugh in light of the circumstance, instantly returning stoic when Frost looked back.

"Let's just leave it at that, shall we? We'd best not let that target of yours get away."

* * *

In contrast to the ever present thundering rain storms of the planet Daitoshi, mid-spring on the Planet Sadala had a strangely soothing warmth and lightly dewy air. The planet’s landscape varied by where you searched, but many of the residential areas were flanked with trees, some from forests and some planted, each carrying its own aroma of home. In the case of Cabba’s residency, the comfortably nestled homestead was blessed with gentle ivies and the freshly blossoming cherry trees.

However, nature was not the Saiyan’s current focus. He was more concerned with work inside the house, as his time of leisure and days off due to his tournament efforts would soon draw to a close, and he needed to be ready.

“Thirty-three! Thirty-four! Thirty-five!”

Now donning his Defense Force uniform, minus the metallic chestplate, Cabba was practicing push-up reps in order to retain his strength. Sure, Caulifla and Kale’s training sessions were effective in keeping him fresh, but their eager insistence on constant spars to attain a higher level of Super Saiyan was a far cry from traditional regiments. He found it just as vital to refine the old as struggle to reach a new height, but, of course, Caulifla would only see one side and Kale would follow her sister figure’s advice blindly. 

As Caulifla and Kale were not present, little Fennel served as his partner in this case. She was left in charge of the simple task of counting his reps. Cabba was perfectly capable of doing this himself, but he needed some way to keep his younger sister occupied. Otherwise, she wouldn’t let him get anything done. Unfortunately, part of her terms included being allowed on his back during his push-ups. He’d begrudgingly agreed, knowing it would be an extra challenge carrying her weight, but also aware that this was her ploy to play piggy-back.

“Thirty-six… Thirty-seven…” Fennel’s counting was starting to become less certain. She was only eight; Cabba understood that she would get tired of counting so high, especially with her rather low attention span. He slowed his pace a bit to help her keep up. “Thirty-eight…” There was a long thinking pause. “Uh… Thirty…”

“Thirty-nine. The next one’s thirty-nine.” The older Saiyan tried not to lose his balance as he held down his push-up in waiting, whispering the answer to the younger Saiyan. His arms were starting to wobble and, as much as he wanted to continue without his sister’s count, she would blame him for messing her up.

Finally, after pondering the answer for a few seconds, despite being quite obviously given to her, Fennel, exuberantly giving up, called out, “One hundred!”

Cabba defeatedly lost his balance and dropped his push-up position, sprawled on the floor as Fennel smiled blamelessly. “Fennel… You made me lose my focus…”

“Well, sorry…” The small Saiyan girl rose to her feet to allow her older brother to get up as well. “It’s just that all of those other numbers were boring… I wanted to skip to the fun one.”

“Fen-Fen…” Cabba sighed. “You can’t just  _ skip  _ numbers." He stood up as he explained, grabbing a water bottle from the nearby table and taking a sip. "If you were counting money, you wouldn't say you have a hundred Zen because thirty-nine Zen doesn't sound as fun."

"But, why can't I?" 

"That's called  _ fraud _ , Fen."

Fennel simply cocked her head in confusion, prompting Cabba to rephrase in easier terms. "It's a dastardly trick.  _ Lying _ ." He slightly tensed up at that word. "No one benefits from it."

"You're getting all twitchy again,  _ onii-chan _ . You really don't like liars do you?" Despite her attention span often being a matter of seconds at a time, Fennel easily noted the brief tension in his arm. 

The older Saiyan only sighed. “No one should like those kinds of people. It’s hard for me because… I’ve been hurt before by those I thought I could trust.”

“Oh…” The little Saiyan girl’s expression lowered. “It was when you came back from that tourney thing all sad, wasn't it? A very mean guy hurt you because he didn't tell you the truth.”

He had told Fennel minimal details about the debacle with Frost, not even mentioning the traitor by name or telling her it was the "lizard guy". Cabba had preferred not to speak too much on that matter that day as he did at present.

_ Why did everything have to come back to that vile lying snake…? _

Cabba nodded lightly, only to change the subject afterward. "I'd prefer to put that behind me." He reclaimed his smile of reassurance. "How about we take a break and I can get you a snack?"

Had Fennel been a puppy, her tail would have begun to wag frantically. Her eyes lit up and her expression was exuberant and innocent. "Ooh! Can I please have wafers,  _ onii-chan _ ? Please, please, please?" She was begging with him with her devilishly cute smile and there was a touch of bounce in her feet. 

"You'll only ruin your appetite for lunch. Think of this as an appetizer." After pondering for a second, he came up with an idea. "Dad brought home some new fruits from other planets from the market. How about you try one of those?"

Surprisingly, the young child had no objections. In fact, she started to bolt to the kitchen. "Dibs on slicing 'em!"

Cabba followed after her in a bit of panic. "Fen-Fen, no amount of begging and pleading will make me let the  _ eight year old _ handle a  _ knife _ !"

"Hey, I'll be  _ nine  _ in a few months. Cut me some slack!" Fennel was searching through the drawers she could reach which, thankfully, the knives had been purposefully removed from.

Her older brother grabbed her with one arm and softly facepalmed with the hand of the other, sighing. "That still doesn't change the fact that they're  _ kni _ -"

The jingling of keys and the opening of the front door interrupted his train of thought. An older male voice called into the home. “I’m home, kids~!”

Fennel practically leapt out of Cabba’s hold as she darted towards the house’s foyer. “Yay! Daddy’s home!” 

Cabba followed soon after, closing the kitchen drawers she had pulled open. “Fennel, please don’t run in the house…” He muttered under his breath, knowing he wouldn’t be listened to anyway.

The two younger Saiyans were sure enough greeted at the doorway by their father arriving home. The older man, Chayo, had a decent build for a Saiyan, but not too muscular, and his jet-black hair had its spiky ends swaying to the left side. Patches of stubble lined his lower face, tired from shifts worked as a single father. Cabba and Fennel’s mother had died not long after the latter was born, meaning the father was tasked with holding up the family order. After many years of practice, he had done rather well for himself.

“Good afternoon, dad. Welcome home!” Cabba greeted him, his smile being met with his father’s in return.

“Thank you, Cabba. I’m sorry I had to head back to work late last night. I had a few deliveries off planet, so I hope I didn’t make you two worry too much.”

“It’s fine, dad.”

“Did Fen behave herself and get to bed on time?”

"As behaved as she could be…" Sometimes Cabba would think about the babysitter his father hired for Fennel when her brother was unavailable and believed them to be a miracle worker to get the rambunctious girl to behave herself.

Only proving his point, Fennel was attempting to climb up Chayo’s body, up to his shoulders. "Daddy! Did you bring home snacks? Did you, did you?" She was practically begging as she tried to get closer to the canvas bag her father was holding onto in order to snoop inside.

He only laughed a bit at her attempts. "Of course, Fennel, dear. I didn't forget you." He retrieved a small stick of packaged meat from the bag and passed it to his daughter. 

"Yay, you got me beef jerky!" Fennel cheered, dropping down from her father's shoulder. She pulled the package open and proceeded to busy herself with gnawing away at it. Cabba knew his father's gimmick with the treat was to strengthen her jaws, but it was an added bonus that she adored the little meat sticks.

Chayo then turned to Cabba. "I didn't forget you either, Cabba. The rest of the bag's yours." He handed the canvas bag over.

Fennel stopped chewing for a moment. "Aww… How come he gets more stuff?"

"Don't be greedy, Fen. Your brother's not around as often to get treats I buy at the market. Besides, I wanted to set him up with a little care package since he'll be heading back to his force duties in…" 

Attention divided between the conversation at hand and checking the bag's contents, Cabba picked up where his father trailed off. "About two or three days, give or take. Depends on how desperately they need me." He gently rummaged through the bag’s contents. Sure enough, the usual treat variety was nestled within. There was an array of different brands of small protein bars made of grains and granola. His father knew he needed the protein and energy for his defense force missions, even though the base cafeteria provided plenty. There was no fault with a little extra. Mixed in between were a few snack cakes- a secret indulgence.

However, what caught him off guard was a small plastic-wrapped pamphlet slipped within. The weight of the many snacks threatened to crease it down the middle. Curiously, Cabba pulled it out slowly. “Hey, dad, I think you may have left your shopping circular in here-” Revealing more of the cover’s designs, he gave a startled jolt, almost dropping the bag.

He never thought he’d have to look at another one of those  _ damn  _ things again, but, sure enough, in his hand rested a cityscape tabloid magazine, much like the ones he had stowed away out of sight. He had hated seeing his old collection, knowing it would only remind him of his foolish attachment to Frost. Yet, for whatever reason, he couldn’t force himself to get rid of them.

When Caulifla and Kale had brought the hidden tabloids back to light, he once again weighed his options, even contemplating burning them. However, Kale was willing to take them off of his hands, knowing they seemed to make him uncomfortable, and, in a strange reversal of roles, Caulifla followed her sister figure's lead and pitched in as well. Kale saw some value in the other articles, while Caulifla’s eyes seemed to glitter as she claimed them, as if ready to crease each page individually simply to mess with her organized Saiyan friend.

All of the old ones were gone and, though he thought he had been liberated, he was once again faced with  _ it _ . 

“Remember these, Cabbs?” Chayo asked. “You used to be a big magazine collector over the years. Something about the vigilante heroism inspiring you to keep up your efforts, right?”

“Especially the one he had a crush on.” Fennel snickered under her breath, pretending to busy herself with her small stick of jerky.

“Fen, please…” Cabba rolled his eyes at her before returning back to the conversation. “But, anyhow, dad, I’m almost eighteen. I think I’ve outgrown this kind of thing a little.” He tried to forge his escape from the uncomfortable situation he had been forced into. It wasn’t a matter of growing too old, it was a matter of growing too attached to liars again.

“I know, I know. I just felt like buying you one from the stand for old time’s sake. It’s been almost four years since you joined the Sadalan Defense Force and I remember that’s what gave you your confidence back then. I don’t really blame you. Not everyone is a fighting prodigy who joins the planetary defense squadrons at only  _ fourteen _ .”

Cabba only sighed. “I know, dad. If it’ll make you happy, I’ll take this one.” He figured at least this issue would be fine. It was a newer issue, after the whole ordeal. It would cover more recent issues. The scoundrel had faded out of the limelight, as both vigilante fraud and fugitive on the move, so the little tabloid would be free of mentioning Frost. It was innocent and could cause him no pain by revitalizing bitter memories. 

He removed it from the misty plastic sleeve and perused the cover, his thumb running along the sides of the pages. Sure enough, it was plastered with the same old same old of the cities. Celebrity scandals over who was dating who, false fortune telling in the form of monthly horoscopes and personality quizzes… a few hidden treasures could be sifted through the gossiping mumbo jumbo.

However, sandwiched between the cluttered design of the front cover was a familiar silhouette. A slithering reptilian tail, the shoulderblades of a warrior’s body armor, and… most distinguishable, two horns pointed at near perfect forty-five degree angles. 

The Saiyan tried not to let his face grow pale and attempted to stay level headed in light of spying that accursed silhouette. Despite his efforts, he could still feel a pit form in his stomach.  _ What did he do  _ this  _ time?  _ He inwardly cursed.  _ Probably not anything good if he’s made the front cover again.  _

He scanned over the accompanying text, straining his vision to look beyond the over the top design. The fonts and colors were so  _ jarring _ . How had he tolerated this kind of thing? Did his hopeless affection make him blind in more ways than one?

Finally, he was able to deduce the message sent across. He murmured it under his breath: “Infamous ‘Hero to Villain’ Trickster MIA.” No issue there. They had yet to catch him, that was  _ hardly  _ breaking news. However, he still skimmed further, reading, “Villainous Frost Reported-”

His face seemed to turn a sickly paler color if the color hadn’t completely drained from his complexion already. Clearly he was reading something wrong. It  _ couldn’t  _ be true. His grip on the magazine tightened, slightly crumpling the pages. His breathing was starting to become prominent. 

He reread the haunting text again, knowing it wouldn’t change the fact. He thought he was over Frost, though he had been reduced to stiff panic by the sight of that silhouette and its haunting caption…

_ Infamous “Hero to Villain” Trickster MIA- Villainous Frost Reported Dead _

Noticing her brother’s panic, Fennel’s expression shifted to one of concern and she returned her jerky stick from her jaws to its wrapping. “ _ Onii-chan _ , your smile ran away. What’s wrong?”

Cabba was still quiet, still trying to make sense of the circumstance. The chilling words echoed in his head on pace with his heartbeat, which he could also hear in his ears. 

“ _ Cabba? _ ” The small girl’s voice had transitioned to a whimper. “Are you going to be alright? Daddy, something’s wrong…”

“Hey, kiddo, are you going to be alright-”

He snapped back to reality in an instant, his face now flushed with heat. His hair blinked golden for a second. “I-I just need a moment, okay?!” Catching his breath, he darted back to his room, his magazine held in a tense grip. 

In this split second, the voice inside of his head was screaming every swear he knew.


	6. Answer Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distressing news leads Cabba to look for answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Japan’s legal drinking age, 20, is used.

Cabba had no clue how to describe the feeling that currently plagued him, but all he knew was that he didn’t like it. He hadn’t even flipped to the tabloid’s first page, yet he had somehow managed to make the world feel like it was closing in around him. 

It was but a simple word on the cover and no matter how many times he reread, he was refusing to believe what his eyes told him. His fingers trembled uncontrollably and were growing clammy and pale as they threatened to crumple the article in front of him. Amid his breakdown, he had managed to sit himself down, back to the slammed shut door of his bedroom, and open to the article detailing the Ice Demon’s disappearance in search of more information. 

No matter how racked his nerves were, he needed answers more than anything. He needed to prove it to himself that he had completely moved past his foolishly placed admiration and affection and could accept what had happened. It didn’t matter where Frost was hiding or whether he was dead or alive. He was a no good scoundrel who had toyed with his heart through his act. Now, he needed the acceptance that this phase was over, sealed with the swindling snake’s soul.

All Cabba needed right now was that fact.

He steadied his fingers, stopping them from scrunching the text in their tense grip, and reclaimed at least a major portion of his composure. The Saiyan breathed out as he read the article before him.

_“Near the end of last year, once adoring fans were taken aback when popular vigilante icon and multiple time peace prize winner, the Ice Demon known as Frost, let his true colors shine out and revealed that his years of heroism were merely a fabricated facade intended for profit. Even though his selfish deeds disguised as selfless were caught, he was not ensnared by the law, escaping into the unknown before he could even be presented as a trial defendant.”_

Cabba sighed as he glossed through the rest. It was a decent way through the article before any new content arised. The beginning was mainly a recap of the facts he already knew well. The treachery, the pain, the scandal that followed.

Finally stumbling upon the start of the coverage of the real matter at hand, he began to read in hushed tones again.

_“The conclusion to the swindler’s legacy occurred not too long ago in the past week, confirmed as fact upon receipt of an anonymous and cryptic memo to the publisher’s Daitoshi office. ‘I hadn’t received the confirmation to take the lizard’s life… yet. However, whether I had the contract to kill in hand or not, his deteriorated mentality prompted an unusual request. He begged me to free him of his broken life. As tough a choice as it was, I deprived him of his suffering._

_I only ask that I am given no reward or credit.’_

_The source of this note is still up to speculation, though many believe that this was the handiwork of the rarely seen legendary ‘Villain Killer’ assassin, Hit.”_

Deeming his questions sufficiently answered, he finally closed the magazine slowly, sighing as he did. Even with the mystery clarified upon, the sense of dread and the feeling of a pit in his stomach still lingered onward. He was supposed to be _over_ Frost, yet his feelings towards the fact that he was gone only proved that this was not the case. 

Cabba finally rose to his feet, casting the tabloid aside. Why was nothing working? Why couldn’t he get the closure he needed to get rid of the buzzing thoughts within his head? He clenched his fingers into his hand, digging his nails into his palm and leaving faint curved indents. Any more pressure would prompt the marks to bleed.

“Dammit, why did I have to fall for his charms?” He muttered under his breath, resigning to his bed and slumping down onto its comfortable spread. The Saiyan knew that he had brought the feelings upon himself, with his foolish celebrity crush at fourteen that lingered for longer than it should have and his trust in the wrong people, but he couldn’t help but blame Frost for this thorn that tore into his heart. He had played his role as the protector so well, why did he have to go and taint it with deceit?

Cabba supposed his best option was to just rest this off. His head would be cleared for a while and, if there was any doubt left, he would make sure the pages detailing Frost would be repurposed as compost or at least put in one of the Saiyan girls’ custody to help him forget. He ran his slightly clammy fingers through his hair, which had surged Super Saiyan gold amid his mental distress, the heat of rage vanishing with the color as it slowly returned to raven’s feather black. With a sigh, he slipped off into a semi-restless rest.

* * *

_Thump, thump._

_Thump, thump._

There was only darkness within the expanse of Cabba’s unformed dreamscape. Only this looming darkness and the rhythm of his steadying heartbeat. He didn’t even identify it as a dream, only as unconsciousness.

This suspicion was disproved by a new reality taking shape, an eerily familiar one at that. His body was lowered to the ground in a sitting posture. His nightshade eyes awakened to this new scenario, peering through a small gap between his raised knees. Unfolding himself, Cabba allowed more of the scene to be visible, helping him realize that this was far from an ordinary dream… This was a memory attempting to reach him. 

The walls were made of a glassy purple material and starscapes whipped past the clear viewpoints at imperceivable speeds. The floor and the ceiling were the same, the speeding stars flanking each direction. This was Champa’s hexahedron no doubt. The team of five he had been drafted into was returning from the Tournament of Destroyers after “disgracing” the God of Destruction with their loss… and almost getting killed as a result, only being saved by the bell when the Omni King paid a visit. 

The God of Destruction himself was busy grumbling to himself, his angel, Vados, holding him back from anymore chaos by his wrist. In one corner sat the bear Botamo, known for his rubbery defense, picking at his claws. At an opposite wall of the hexahedron was a familiar Metal Man, Magetta. A kind and gentle soul despite his once intimidating exterior, he was whirring to himself, much akin to any other species’s breathing exercises. However, draped backward across his arm, unconscious and covered with a black travelling cloak was…

_The damned bastard himself…_

A small growl bubbled in Cabba’s throat at the thought of the traitorous Arcosian. His brain just seemed to have a knack for finding ways to subtly torture him. His fingers anxiously tapped to his upper arm, subconsciously. 

He tried to detract his attention away from this matter in order to still his frustrated heart. Unfortunately, there was nothing really to point his focus towards in such an enclosed space. Nothing of interest changed from the events in repetition. After Champa's divine hissy fit, the aura spread among the team was quite tense. At this point, he wouldn't even have minded if Frost had regained consciousness- a thorough berating of the Arcosian would at least occupy a few minutes.

He figured his mind wouldn't try to flash him back to the mundane, unless this was an attempt to drive him slowly insane with the loop. There surely must have been a reason he was remembering this exact scenario. A tortuous mind could pick from a wide library of soured memories of Frost, so why here?

His eyes darted about for the answer before realizing something didn't quite add up in this spread. Minus the destroyer and his angelic advisor, there were five of them. The five members of the team- Botamo was one, Magetta and his unconscious carry-on made two more, Cabba himself made the total four, but where was-

_"Are you going to be alright, kid?"_

_There_ he was.

As Cabba’s head turned up to look at the legendary assassin, without so much as a warning, the dream flickered into fuzzy static. It felt as if his heart sped up a few beats and his head began to pulse when he tried to futilely scavenge for answers beyond the thick mental cloud of distortion. Was his dream punishing him for seeking help within it? Was this part of this mental torture trap his own mind was laying out?

However, the Saiyan was able to make out a faint murmur of dialogue, spoken in the hitman’s stone cold monotone, yet broken up into slivers.

_“...deprived him… his suffering… only ask… no… credit…”_

It vaguely resembled the words of the testimonial from the tabloid that had brought about his current distress, yet the distorting dreamscape made sure static would thoroughly piece apart the message, like cut out magazine letters on a ransom note.

Before Cabba could be sure, however, within a quick blink, the dream was returned to its normal clarity. His dream self had already risen to his feet, now looking towards the source of the fifth member’s voice, who was looking back at him with a side glance. 

This was the legendary assassin, Hit.

From his initial sources, merely the spreading rumor mill of those who knew no better, Cabba’s initial picture of Hit was a far cry from what it was now that he had actually met the man. At the mention of an infallible assassin who lurked in the shadows and worked in a mysterious manner, one pictured a ruthless monster with nary a feeling or emotion. The man behind this illusion of breakroom whispers, on the other hand, was a rather peaceful and docile man making his way in the universe… even if his money was made through taking the lives of heinous criminals. He was able to feel just as any other person. 

Hit’s back was to the wall and he hadn’t even turned his head to face Cabba dead on, his ruby rose iris merely darting to the side to look at him. It shot slightly downward to meet the Saiyan’s; there was at least a foot of difference between their heights. A small nick was still present along his cheek from his fight against Universe 7’s Goku during the tournament, the miniscule wound seeping a negatable drop of dark purple blood. His lavender hands had slipped into their usual retreating place, his dark gray coat’s pockets. 

_“Kid, are you going to be alright?”_ The assassin gently pressed the question again. _“You appear rather tense. I don’t intend to intrude, I just wish to be sure.”_

_“Oh. I-I’m sorry to have concerned you, sir.”_ Cabba responded, his foot subconsciously shuffling along the floor tiling. _“I guess such is to be expected when you almost die by the destroyer’s paw…”_ He gave a quiet, but nervous laugh, trying to ease the surrounding aura. The tense atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife.

_“I’m pretty sure everyone is that way right now… But, there’s something… different about your tension, Cabba.”_ His hands briefly rustled in his jacket pockets. _“Again, stop me if I’m prying too much, but I’ve noticed you’ve been particularly tense when you’re focusing your attention on Frost over there.”_ His iris briefly pointed towards the wall where Auta Magetta sat with his living cargo, the still passed out but still breathing Arcosian, on his metal arm. Cabba swallowed faintly at Hit’s spot-on observation. The assassin noted this and changed topics. _“I fear I’m prying. I should leave you be-”_

The Saiyan cut him off. _“No, no. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal anyway. He’s no one to me now.”_ He sighed, folding his arms and facing the blurry streams of stars whisking past the energy wall.

Hit sighed in return, closing his eyes and returning to a state of inward meditation, before opting to speak up again. _“I understand you’re… processing, but I fear you might be bottling too much of that in.”_

_“I-I’m bottling… what exactly?”_

_“Your emotions. If you don’t let all of them out, you’re only hurting yourself.”_

In that moment, the words seemed to resonate with him. Maybe this was why his mind had been brought to this moment. Maybe Hit was correct on this mark. He had concealed all of these feelings for so long, refusing to admit they still festered within his heart and soul. The current situation was inflicting more powerful hits on his mentality because he never let any strong feeling reach an outlet.

_Perhaps he shouldn’t have kept the topic of the betrayal’s fallout under such strict lock and key._

Cabba took a long breath of the surrounding fresh air in another sigh, slowly letting his arms fall to his sides rather than continuing to tense while folded. He supposed he’d only get nowhere ignoring this tip. _“I-I guess I never really thought about it like that. Should I be letting my feelings out right now?”_

_“Don’t strain to let every feeling out at once. Take it in moderation. Why don’t you give it a shot right now, if you’re comfortable with that?”_ Hit’s iris briefly turned back to him, a hint of rare softness in his often paralyzing scarlet glare. His hands shuffled slightly in his pockets again.

The Saiyan only gave a brief nod in response, shutting his eyes in a similar fashion to the assassin’s own practice of silent meditating. He sighed yet again, trying to steady his breathing and be one with his thoughts and emotions…

_All of these thoughts shot back to Frost in that very moment. The traitorous Ice Demon was the clear elephant in the room here._

_Even when he tried to remember the positive times, the days spent together, the talks on the dusty battlegrounds after missions they, by what he once believed was a coincidence, both happened to be present for… Nothing changed his welling up frustrations._

_What once filled him with some kind of butterflies of affection and warmth was now tainted with the blinding red of anger knowing that they were cleverly disguised by a curtain of deceit. Everything he thought he knew, what he had experienced, was likely all woven into Frost’s cunning web of lies, his foolish little game… It was all a game to the Arcosian._

_Heroism was not “a game”. Affection was not “a game”. They were all very real to him and to believe someone could take it as an act?! Did Frost see no caveat showing him where the game would leave everyone else once it ended one way or another?! Was it all trivial to him?!_

Cabba could feel his arms, once steady and free at his sides, begin to tense up yet again and vibrate almost violently. There was a certain tingle forming in his upper back, one he had experienced earlier in the tournament and later realized was tied to his newly learned transformation technique. He let out a long exhale, his fists clenched. 

_“You can let it out at any time, Cab-”_

The assassin, speaking up again, was cut off by a loud thud ringing out. 

Cabba had initially thought the hexahedron had come to a halt, but, as his eyes slowly opened, he realized that the transport was still whipping through the starscapes and deduced that the thump had another source. His breathing had a steady rhythm, yet it came out in audible huffs of exhaustion. His face felt the soon to be familiar heat of his Super Saiyan aura flared up. 

He looked forward to see his fist planted firmly in the wall. The window-like material he had expected to shatter like glass after such a hard hit, but it was as sturdy as stone. Ripples in the panel formed out from where his punch had collided, as if he had punched a block of gelatin.

_“Oi!! Watch it, you punk!! That stuff’s expensive!!”_ Champa’s rumbling growl could be heard loud and clear, as that seemed to be the destruction god’s only volume setting. 

However, he was quickly yanked back to his pouting corner by a surprising patient Vados. _“Mind your blood pressure, Lord Champa. You don’t need that on top of your heavy cholesterol.”_

_“Well,"_ Hit had finally turned to the side, his eyes now pointed towards Cabba dead on rather than from a glance to the side. His voice seemed to mellow slightly compared to his typical stone cold tone. _“If I’d say that wasn’t some fair progress, I don’t know what would be.”_

Knuckles still embedded within the rippling wall tiling, Cabba looked over to the assassin, still trying to reclaim his tired breath. He refused to even focus on how his hair still burned a fiery gold and his eyebrows were furrowed in contrast with his smile. 

The hitman was _right._ This feeling of letting all of this pent up rage out in one fell strike to the wall… Oh, how _exhilarating_ it was! In his metaphorical high on the sweet release of festering and hiding emotions, he secretly wished that this strike had not been inflicted on a numb panel, but that his fist, embittered by cold rage and heartbreak, had been planted between the eyes of the Arcosian scoundrel who had caused him to feel all of these stubborn clouds of negativity and spite.

_“Thank you… sir…”_ He managed to reply, still somewhat short of breath and taking in audible huffs of air at points. _“That.. really helped…”_

_“Glad I could be of assistance, but remember to take this in strides. Don’t overwork yourself for an immediate breakthrough or you’ll probably only make things worse for yourself.”_ Hit, within a second, returned to his prior position against the wall and reentered his half-awake meditative state. 

_“Oh… Of course…”_ With a few breaths to steady his pulse, he let his golden locks fizzle out like an extinguished candle and return to their usual cool and collected raven color. He peeled his fist away from the wall to see that the material was durable enough to be left without the slightest dent, proving Champa’s scolding to be built solely on paranoia. The lower segments of his fingers, around his knuckles, were bruised red, but, thankfully, not bleeding. _“Thanks…”_

_“No problem. If you’re having any more trouble, you know where to reach me. Just know that I’m no full time replacement for a therapist.”_

_“Noted. I might have to take you up on that offer sometime.”_

Before he fully returned to meditating in silence, Hit continued, adding, _“...and if this whole ordeal gets worse and that piece of work is really unnerving you, I could always…”_ His left eye reopened partially, shooting Cabba a dodgy glance. _“...you know…”_

The Saiyan jolted upright at this note. _“I-I really don’t think I’m in any position to put an assassin’s bounty on his head.”_

_“Understandable, but he’ll probably be on my watchlist soon anyway.”_ Hit shrugged and shut his left eye again. _“Oh, and by the way, you should probably wake up. Sister’s looking for you.”_

* * *

“Eh?!” Cabba popped back into reality at that moment, eyes filled with a touch of bewilderment. That note was interesting, to say the least, to end the daydream on, but it was likely his subconscious sending him messages as a cue to awaken, like how it had sent him back into his memories for a reason. 

He needed to remember Hit’s advice and not let these feelings well up again. This would be the only way to make this all go away. The Saiyan not only needed to let his feelings out in strides… he needed more help- someone who would know the whole ordeal better.

He supposed that it would be a positive step in the right direction if he got in contact with the assassin. Sure, Frost was already dead, but he felt that a long-needed conversation needed to be had between the two. 

But, the ending of the daydream was also something of note. Didn’t it mention something about his sister looking for him? Yet, the room was quiet…

At least it was for a second…

Within a brief moment of silence, he could finally hear a faint whisper from Fennel. “Maybe he’s awake _now_ .” The whisper was soon followed by a far from soft knock at his door. “ _Onii-chan!_ Are you okay?!”

Cabba deemed it best that he shouldn’t leave his worried sister waiting for much longer, considering how easily he had fallen apart and left her with the least answers possible. This was one of the reasons he wanted to keep more closure around the whole ordeal. She was far too young to understand such mental torture and he hoped it would be a long time before she understood, if worse came to worse and she grew to understand it at all. 

He rose from the bed and, on his way to the door, noticed the tabloid still laying on the floor. The Saiyan simply sighed and used his foot to slide the magazine across the floor, silently hoping it would find its way in one of the dark “out of mind” spaces beneath the furniture. He opened the door, trying to put on a brave face for his little sister. 

As soon as it opened the slightest crack, Cabba could catch a glimpse of Fennel’s whimpering puppy dog eyes melting away in favor of a look beaming with happiness. The light returned to her smile and her eyes, still damp with a few tears.

“Hey, Fen-”

Before Cabba could even finish greeting her, Fennel almost immediately pounced on him, having to jump up a bit in order to embrace him at the waist. “Cabba! You’re okay! Your smile’s back!”

“Heh, I guess it is.” Cabba tried to retain his smile in light of the dreadful pit of doubt that lingered within him. “You must have been waiting outside for a long time, but I just needed a bit of time to myself.” He inwardly prayed that his father had kept the girl in the dark on a lot of the topic matter, not wanting her to be tainted too early and lose her ray of sunshine outlook.

Fennel looked back up at her brother with a smile before releasing her tight hug hold at his waist. As her stocking clad feet touched the ground, the skirt to her faded marigold-colored jumper, which was worn on top of a green turtleneck blouse, folded back out like a parachute. “Daddy said I shouldn’t bother you too much, but I was worried about you so much, _onii-chan_ …” She held her hands clasped behind her back and, from her motions, Cabba deduced that she was likely twiddling her thumbs. “But, Daddy’s not here, so I went to check on you anyway.”

Cabba shoulders suddenly lurched. “Wait, Dad’s not here?”

“Yeah, he didn’t want to bug you, but he got called back into work. Said it was ‘urgent’.” There was a confused look briefly on her face. “He uses that word a lot, I still don’t know what it means.”

“Oh, that means that something’s really important and needs to be taken care of as soon as possible.” Cabba explained. “Like when you really need to use the bathroom. We’d say that’s ‘urgent’. But, in Dad’s case, he might need to help out his coworkers with some issue quickly, so that everyone else doesn’t fall behind on the rest of the work. That can be ‘urgent’ too.” He counted off of his fingers as he listed examples. 

_Plus, I should probably talk with Hit about this whole ‘Frost is dead’ conundrum before my mental state deteriorates again._ He inwardly added. _I’d say that’s pretty ‘urgent’._

_But how am I going to get out of the house when there’s no one else to watch Fennel?_ He silently pondered. _This is too sensitive to just do over text and it should take about an hour on the galactic tramway to get to the planet. Hopefully, he’s still on Daitoshi._

Clicking back to reality, he was greeted back from his thoughts by a reassuring smile still on Fennel’s face. “Thanks for explaining that to me, _oniichan_. Now that you’re feeling all better, do you want to go play? You can invite your girlfriends over again!”

He tried not to visibly blush at the “girlfriend” comment again. “I’d take you up on that suggestion, but I know at least Caulifla is running errands in town today for her brother, Renso, and Kale might not want to get too far ahead of her in their training.” While this statement was true, he was also trying to avoid any conflicts with his decision to head out. “How about you play in your room for a bit while I make you a snack? I need to send out some messages too… _Defense force related things…_ ” Cabba tried to hide his intention.

“Okay~!” Fennel smiled innocently, skipping off to her room, her skirt flowing with her movements. “Tell me when it’s ready!”

The older Saiyan sighed silently. _Finally, a moment alone. Now, to figure out how to work this all out._

* * *

It took quite some time before Fennel finally perked up from her position at the words, “Snack’s ready, come and get it!” She almost burst through the door of her bedroom and skittered through the hall to reach the long awaited appetizer to lunch that her brother set out for her in the kitchen. 

The air smelled almost fruity, yet unlike any fruit she’d ever tried before. This emanating aroma was likely from one of the new fruits their father picked up while planet-hopping for work. Sure enough, a small plate of the fruit in question was laid upon the table, cut into bite-sized pieces. Boosting herself onto the chair, she got a closer look at the prepared treat, the fruit having a fuschia skin and a light drizzle of honey on top. 

“Ooh, honey on top! Thanks, _onii-chan!_ ” She smiled eagerly, grabbing the fork next to the plate and digging in.

Cabba simply smiled in return. “Well, you deserve a little bit of a treat once in a while. Just remember to wash your hands afterward. Even with a fork, you always manage to get your fingers sticky with honey.”

He paced off to the side, seemingly still in thought. Compared to when Fennel saw him a few minutes earlier, he seemed… different. His hair was more well-combed compared to its prior slightly ruffled state it had been in. From that point, the differences became more telling. Over his blue uniform, he now wore the chestplate portion of his defense force garb. His legs donned dark and warm compression leggings. Rather than his feet only donning his usual stockings, he had also put on his tall cinnamon brown leather boots.

“Are you heading outside?” Fennel asked her brother, causing him to stop in his tracks. “If you’re training again, I can help you count when I’m done eating.”

“Oh, yeah.” Cabba’s voice seemed a bit dodgy. “I’m heading outside for a bit.” As he crossed over to the other side of the table, she noticed something else of note. There was a dark leather jacket, a deep shade of mocha brown, with wooly gray sleeves draped over his arm. The letters embroidered on the chest in gold-colored thread were upside down from Fennel’s view, but she had seen Cabba’s jacket plenty of times to know that the letters were “S S D F”, which apparently stood for the defense organization he worked with. 

“It’s spring now. It’s nice and warm today too. Why are you taking your jacket?”

At this question, the older Saiyan jolted upright. Not realizing that the jacket’s pockets had not yet been closed up, his motion caused his phone to slip out of a pocket. Cabba’s quick reflex kicked in and grabbed it before it made contact with the floor. However, this action did not go unnoticed by Fennel, who let out a gasp in realization.

“You’re leaving?” She asked, her voice a mix of shock and whimpering. “Like, ‘not just going outside’ _leaving?_ ”

Cabba’s faked smile of reassurance vanished, becoming an expression full of concern. “Look, Fennel. It’s okay. You know how we were talking about urgent things? Well, I have something urgent to take care of now. I already sent a message to Dad about it and-”

“But, you said that you don’t have to go back to work for two or three days!”

“Yes, but,” The older Saiyan paused for a moment to get his devised story straight. “They need me for a special task, so they’re having me work an extra mission during my break. Once it’s done, I’ll still have the rest of the time off, alright?”

“Okay…” Fennel sighed in resignation, but this state lasted for only a few seconds before she thought of something. “But, wait! You can’t leave me alone! You can’t leave, you have to stay!” She perked up triumphantly, figuring out a loophole to keep her brother at home. However, Cabba was already prepared.

“Yeah, I thought of that.” The Saiyan simply answered. “I called someone over to watch you until either I get back or Dad comes home. You remember Kale, right?”

Fennel eagerly nodded in agreement. “Yeah! She’s the quiet and pretty one right? She’s my favorite. Can you please date her so she can be my sister please?”

“Let’s maybe hold off on the dating portion, but yeah,” Cabba shrugged, trying to shake off any potential embarrassed blushing. “She’ll be coming over to babysit. She said she’ll be over in about five minutes, but I have to go right now. Can you promise not to cause any trouble for Kale, Fen-Fen?”

“I promise.” Fennel resignedly sighed again. “But, make sure to come back soon. I was so worried about you today…”

“Alright, Fen. I promise not to give you any more scares today, alright? I think once I’m home again, I’ll feel much better too and you can help me with my training if you want.”

The Saiyan girl’s eyes lit up immediately. “Really, _onii-chan?_ ” 

“Of course.” Cabba nodded, stuffing his phone back into the pocket of his coat and properly sealing it inside via zipper. As he approached the front door, he turned back to Fennel, who was keeping herself busy with her honey drizzled snack. “I’ll be back as soon as can. Be a good girl for Kale, alright?”

Slipping out the door after his sister’s full mouth response of agreement, Cabba let out a relieved sigh out of her earshot. All he needed to do was get to Daitoshi, talk to Hit, and get rid of these damn thoughts buzzing through his head non-stop. 

He didn’t want to concern anyone else with all of the stress that had been placed on him, so this left him no choice but to be rid of them and end the dark chapter of his life.

With a burst of motivation, he finally slumped his tensed shoulders back down and set his course into town to take the next galactic tram towards the rain planet, Daitoshi… his next hope.

* * *

“Alright, Frost, here’s the rundown of what you’ll need to do.”

After a long period of silence, following the brief dispute over Hit figuring out Frost’s father's identity, the two were finally back on track and had arrived at the reported location of the assassin’s next target: a quaint little bar in the Emerald District of the city. It was reportedly “a good place to have a good time”, but the deal was tainted for Hit knowing that the bar scene on the city planet was often a hive of villainous scum that he needed to dispose of. 

“Yeah, yeah. I heard you back at the office. Keep the guy from running away. Got it.” Frost shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t understand why I’d need to waste my time on that. You’re pretty adept at getting this stuff done quick. Just kill him and you’re done.”

“It’s not that simple.” Hit shoved his hands back into his pockets, lightly rustling within them. “This is a public venue, which will require more stealth and calculation, so that my handiwork can slip by with less detection. That’s why I’ll need you to stall for more time. If the target escapes, we’ll need to track him down again and I’d prefer not to let a dead man roam another day due to my own negligence.”

“That’s… fair, I suppose.” The Arcosian nodded briefly. “But, what sort of thing am I supposed to discuss with him to keep him occupied? We’re on opposite sides of the moral coin. He’s probably going to know that I’m a vigilante after his fraud ring.”

“Just… think of something. Try to play daft on the vigilante note or maybe try to fool him into thinking you’ll spare him if he gives into some made up terms. Or you could maybe…” There was a brief pause on Hit’s part. “...try to flirt.”

Frost’s remaining iris lowered, his arms crossed. “Hey! Just because I swing that way doesn’t mean that I don’t have _standards_.”

“Okay, scratch the ‘flirting’ part. That’s a moot point. All that matters is that you find a way to keep him from leaving the bar. Maybe you could try to trick him into getting more drinks to keep him at the counter for longer.”

“In other words, get him _sloshed_?” A peculiarly plotting-like look entered the Ice Demon’s gaze. “Gotcha.”

“Not the word I’d use, but, basically, yes.” The assassin simply sighed. “Anything to keep him in one place while I consider the angle of attack. Now, you know who you’re looking for, correct?” He pulled a small token out from his pocket. Clicking a button on top revealed a small hologram of a grizzled grunt with a ventilator mask. There was a distinct spiral shaped pin on his lapel. 

“This is my target, Mitsuyu Gyosha. He’s an extortionist who uses underhanded methods to force his smuggled contraband onto his patrons. Plus, he attempts to force them to get caught for the crime while he gets off scot free. However, not for much longer.” He clicked the hologram chip off and returned it to his pocket. “Don’t fall for any of his games. Got it?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Frost gave a confident nod in response. “I won’t let you down. That Gyosha guy is as good as dead.”

“Good. So, we’re clear on that.” As Hit was about to turn towards the entrance, he paused in his tracks. “Oh, and before I forget…” His hand shuffled around in his coat pocket again, fetching his wallet and pulling out a few bills of galactic credits. “Take this. The barkeep won’t let you stay long unless you buy something.” He tucked the currency into Frost’s jacket.

“Wait, won’t you need to get something too?”

“Don’t have to. I’ll be hiding, remember? He won’t even know I’m there.” After a pause, he then added, “Also, while you're in there, remember to get something non-alcoholic, please…”

“Hey! I’m twenty! It’s legal!” The Ice Demon protested.

“The law is not what I’m concerned with. You’re still practically a toothpick after being starved for so long. You’d probably black out on glass one of anything substantial.” Hit sighed. “I’d say I’ve played nurse for you enough, I don’t want to deal with you drunk.”

“Fine, I’ll skip on the alcohol…” Frost sighed, his undamaged eye closing in the process. “I guess you can go head in target hunting now, right Hit?” Upon opening his eye, Hit had completely vanished into thin air. He had heard no footsteps or the bar door opening, so it was more likely than not his Time Skip at work. “Thanks for the magic act, showoff.” He scoffed, yet a smile still persisted on his lips. He made his way down the stairs into the alcove where the small city tavern was nestled and slipped into the bar scene in search of Mitsuya Gyosha, the scamming scumbag.

* * *

Upon stepping foot into the dim and dismal rain of the Daitoshi cityscape, Cabba found himself already debating why many called this place home. It eerily emanated a tense aura of uncertainty and conspiracy, but, he supposed that if someone lingered long enough, they could stick into this rainy day fray. However, for the Saiyan, he had no time to become accustomed. His only desire was to have a much needed talk with a certain assassin; someone who was able to understand the crushing metaphorical weight on his chest and someone who could help it to let up.

He wanted to get this whole debacle over with as soon as possible and it had already taken a little over an hour just to travel. The doubt in his stomach almost stopped him from daring to even set foot off of the tramway, let alone out of the station and into the cold, but the other doubts residing within him proved more dire. 

Unfortunately for his anxious heart, Cabba had been neglectful of one key fact- where Hit would even be… The assassin’s usual locale was not freely available information. He’d forgotten to ask for the info the first time simply because he was desperate to leave Frost’s presence and clear his head, and their only other meeting was tied to the Tournament of Power, which was also a… touchy point.

His only other option was to seek this information from another source. As if this city wasn’t intimidating enough, the only people willing to give information, sketchy or not, were most often found in the metropolis planet’s bar scene.

_Just his damn luck…_

Taking a deep breath for confidence into the dark cloth allergen mask guarding his mouth, since he couldn’t afford catching cold nor tolerate the cigar smoke stuffing up the air, he finally found his bearings and descended into one of the many alcoves of the city, where the least intimidating of Daitoshi's taverns rested. 

The Saiyan pushed open the door with hesitancy, instantly greeted by a scene he couldn't even begin to process in one blink. The whole tavern was aglow with a dim orange tinted light and in almost every cranny sat at least one person of shady character, many that frequented bounty boards. As if his fight or flight response wasn't strong enough…

Cabba sighed and stowed his fear, pulling his gray hood down and continuing into this scummy criminals' hive. Dew that had made its way past his hood and into his raven locks gently coursed down his face. He just needed to keep his head down and not look anyone too sketchy in the eyes.

Hoping the barkeep was at least of some good repute, Cabba kept wordless with his eyes dead set on meeting no one else's. His stride was filled with one purpose- getting in and out as soon as possible. 

However, before he could take his seat in a row of mostly empty barstools, he was stopped by a less than comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hey, _fine-looking…_ " The voice slurred; clearly whoever had laid a hand upon him could hardly be considered sober. "What are you doing in a place like this? Why dontcha come home with me…?" The man hiccuped in between. 

Cabba didn't think he'd have to argue with a senseless drunkard today, but here he was. "Not interested." He bluntly pried the man's clammy hand from his shoulder and tried to continue forward. "Besides, I'm not a lady, I'm a _man_ ." Of course, his voice chose _that_ moment to crack.

"No problem, fine-looking, it's all the same to…"

"Not. Interested."

Still, the man persisted, attempting to reach out towards him. "But, you'd be perfect… With your hair and…"

Before he could be touched again, Cabba had grabbed him by the wrist. As much as he wanted to show this man what for, he was trying not to attract too much attention. His hair briefly surged Super Saiyan gold before dying back down. "Are we going to have a problem here?"

Thankfully, his anger was cut short by the barkeep behind the counter raising their voice. "Hey, stop trying to scare my customers away. You've had too much already." They turned to Cabba, who, with uncertainty, freed the drunk man's hand. "I can serve you a few stools down. I'll try to keep that guy out of your hair."

The Saiyan nodded, still a bit frazzled, but taking his seat further down the line. A couple stools separated him from the next nearest patron, who he could make out bits of pieces of their conversation from. Nothing important to him, so he paid little attention to it.

"So, you got a name, spitfire?" The Saiyan's gaze turned up to the keep's. They were not of an overly familiar species, but they donned what seemed to be a ventilation mask over their nose and mouth, and a bang of their hair partially covered one of their eyes.

"Cabba, SSDF Elite." He answered straightforwardly, setting his elbows to the counter.

"Well, how about that… We don't usually see Saiyans in this neck of Hell. So, you're some hotshot captain, then? What brings you to this planet?"

"Oh, no, just an elite. _I'm no leader…_ " Cabba added the last part under his breath. He proved an excellent combative asset, but, made obvious from his experience with Caulifla, he also proved to be somewhat of a doormat. "Anyhow, I'm looking for someone around this region. I was hoping someone could point me in the right direction."

"I wouldn't call myself an expert on everyone in this city, but I could probably track down your person." The keeper sighed. "But, information comes with a price in these parts, you know." As Cabba lurched back defensively, they corrected themself. "Calm down, spitfire. It's a monetary price, don't worry."

"How much is this going to cost me?" His fingers warily tapped to his arm.

"Oh, not much at all depending on what you're in the mood for. Just buy a drink and we can talk then, alright?"

"I'm… not one for alcohol…" Cabba responded leerily. "Do you have mineral water or something?"

"We're a bar, sir, not a hotel."

"Then, do you have any plain seltzer? Not the hard stuff?"

"That I can do for you. That'll be two seventy-five Zen please." 

With a sigh, he unzipped the jacket pocket containing his wallet, cautious not to let it in sight, and dished three hundred-Zen coins out onto the counter. "Keep the change." He responded, as he sealed the wallet back in.

"Excellent, sir." The barkeep nodded as they swept the coins into their apron pocket and turned to the back. Within a minute, they had returned with a champagne flute of seltzer. Cabba pulled down his mask to check the scent and make sure he wasn't being deceived, then promptly took a fair sip of it.

"So," The barkeep spoke back up again after a brief silence. "Who are you hunting for?" As they asked, an empty whiskey glass was slid across the counter in their direction and, without missing a beat, they took it and started to clean it off with the towel from their apron.

"Well, his name is-" Cabba cut himself off with a near unnoticed jolt. It would be best not to speak the assassin's name in such a place, so as not to cause an uproar. "Actually, I think I'd best just show you a photo."

He pulled his phone from his other pocket and sighed as he opened an older file he wished not to revisit, but he had to in order to get a clear image. An old team photo from before _that tournament_. Of course, Frost was in that photo, still under his deceitful mask, but, thankfully, Cabba had been thorough and had already scrawled out the bastard through a little photo editing. 

He zoomed into the portion of the photo containing Hit and flipped the screen around to show the barkeep. "This man here, sir."

They leaned in to get a closer look at the photo. "And that is…" Their eyes widened and the glass dropped from their hand onto the floor and promptly shattered.

"I can… pay for that glass if you need me to." The Saiyan quickly apologized without hesitation upon hearing the sound of the glass breaking, but the tender did not seem swayed by its shattering. 

"The… the Infallible?" Their voice trembled at sight of the assassin's photo, cueing Cabba to slip it back away. "Why would you be after a man like that? I-I don't know where to find an assassin. I'm just a humble bartender, I don't know anything..."

Cabba sighed in resignation. "No reason. Forget I asked you anything." He took another long sip from the glass of seltzer, nearly depleting it.

"Yeah, sorry I couldn't help you, sir. I'd say ask anyone else, but, in this turf, you've got to be mindful of who you show that to. Most scum in here will scatter like cockroaches at the slightest reference to that guy, trust me."

"Yeah, I can tell…" The Saiyan let out another sigh, half ready to simply finish his drink and leave. No one would be of help to him here and he was too paranoid of this city to wander through it aimlessly for a secretive hitman who may have still been on business. As much as he needed someone who would understand his dilemma, he figured his chance wasn't today. He'd either wait another day for Hit to come around or simply continue to bear the weight until it slipped into the background.

As he prepared to conclude his business, something made him jolt suddenly, a mysterious chill up his back. It was as if there was an icy glare of eyes running up his spine, yet he felt no presence directly behind him. This looming aura… almost as soon as he picked up on it, it suddenly whisked away in another direction, brushing past like a cold autumn's breeze.

Blinking confused, he tried to process this strange phenomenon, but explanation failed him. He turned his head to face behind him hesitantly, still keeping half a glance on his drink, to see if he could find the source, but within another blink, he found himself further mesmerized by the chilling aura at work again.

By some sudden force, he found his barstool fully faced to the left.

He wasn’t sure if he had wheeled it around himself, nor did he feel the motion spinning him. He didn't hear the faint squeak of its turn either. It was almost as if the moment it had spun had been… completely skipped.

_Wait…_

If Cabba was sure he wasn’t going completely crazy (and he still debated this fact after all of the asinine things he had gone through), this brief mysterious blip was likely the handiwork of some supernatural force, held at the whim of one man- if this was a Time Skip at work, then that meant the assassin was in close proximity. 

Considering the current locale, it was highly likely Hit was currently in pursuit of a target, but solely the thought of knowing he could be traced nearby following the kill eased the uncertain twist in his stomach. He didn’t have to suffer anymore. He was going to get this over with, lift the weight off his heart. He was going to be _fine_! 

However, as he prepared to rise from the stool, something caught his attention. Something flicking about almost rhythmically back and forth. It was a batting tail of a familiar middle gray shade. Upon sight of it, the pit in his stomach returned with a vile vengeance, knowing what this strikingly familiar lizard tail was connected to.

_No._

_No…_

_NO!_

This particular tail was tethered to the patron a few stools to his left, a young reptilian man donning a dark coat of denim. His uncovered scales were soothing shades of blue; oceanic azure on his hands and the remaining main scales were a much lighter pale blue. A dark bandanna wrapped his skull’s crown jewel, which was the color of a shimmering divine sapphire. 

He felt haze welling up in the corners of his eyes out of sheer fury and frustration. If his mind wasn’t playing a cruel and sick trick on him, Cabba knew what horrid truth he had uncovered.

_That damn bastard, Frost, was still alive._

Cabba’s reassured smile beneath his mask soured back to one of welling up and tense frustration. He could feel his pulse begin to race a mite faster in his ears. He had already been plenty betrayed and lied to in the past, all in the past few months by this scoundrel weasel of a lizard, and now… he had done it all again. How many more _damn_ games was he going to play with his _damn_ heart?!

He quickly grabbed the seltzer glass at his side and promptly downed the rest in one swift gulp. “Excuse me for a moment.” He muttered through gritted teeth. “There’s something I need to attend to…”

The Saiyan promptly rose from his stool and approached where the traitor sat, his patience at a new low. He was dead set on giving Frost his much needed what-for. His feelings were done being toyed with…

Yet some part of him was just longing to look Frost in the eyes again…

The Ice Demon, half leaning onto the counter, did not seem to even notice Cabba's approaching footsteps, simply blending into the fray as any other person, not a runaway as he had been presumed to be at their last meeting… and did he smell like lavender? However, the Saiyan did manage to provoke a flinch out of Frost as he set his hand on his shoulder. "Pardon me, sir."

Out of his silence finally arose his mellow and silky smooth voice. There was a flourish to his accent that Cabba couldn't even begin to truly describe in all his years of knowing him. "Hang on a moment, Mr. Gyosha." He assured the grizzled patron he had been conversing with, who was starting to show signs of slipping sobriety.

With a flick of his tail, he whisked his stool around, much akin to a classic villain of a spy film. His coat attempted to fit to his meager and scrawny form, but ultimately remained too large. The bandanna wrapped around his head covered one of his eyes, leaving only one ruby berry-like iris looking back at him. His smooth yet sneaky expression tried to detract from the light marks of fatigue showing. Grasped in his clawed hand was the stem of a cocktail glass, half filled with a foamed pinkish-violet beverage that was topped with two berries for flair. He subconsciously spun the glass in his dark-nailed fingers.

"Yesss~?" Frost let out a long and curious purr. His sole eye turned up to meet Cabba's eyes, no sympathy within them, and, once he was met with the realization of who he was facing, the lizard went stark stiff, like a deer in the headlights. His grip on his glass of clover club tensed up. " _Merde…_ " He cursed under his breath.

“Frost…?” Anger tried to show in the Saiyan’s voice, but it just couldn’t bubble to the surface. In fact, his tone had gone completely soft. He always had this inward desire to make it known to the scoundrel how he had been hurt, but he could never muster it no matter how hard he tried. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, uh-” There was a brief stutter as his eye attempted to avoid contact. “I’m afraid you may have the wrong person. I don’t know anyone named Frost. My name is Tsurara. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” He had fallen for his ruse in the past, but Cabba was now smart enough to know well that the Ice Demon was lying through his teeth. 

“Come on, please cut the act already.” He sighed. “I know it’s you, Frost. I’m not crazy!”

“My, my, you’re persistent…” ‘Tsurara’ set down his glass as his tail fluttered about aimlessly. “I’ve plenty assured you that I am not the man you seek. I know no Frost.” His glance was dodgy. “Now, if you’ll pardon me, I am quite... busy.” Upon further notice, the seemingly random beating of his tail seemed to be searching around the grizzled grunt for some sort of opening, the tip of a poison needle peeking out. 

“Please tell me you’re not serious, right? Did you hit your head? Are you _drunk?!_ ”

“Sober as can be, my dear sir~” He once again purred. “I’ve been told I can’t hold liquor anyway. Show me any number of fingers and I can prove it.”

As much as ‘Tsurara’ tried to prove himself, Cabba could quite easily see through this thin disguise. The voice, the mannerisms, even down to the teensy poison needles he kept quietly on his person, this Ice Demon was Frost, down to his bones. Not again would he be tied into a liar’s web.

He let out a breath, already fed up with this charade. "Come with me." He demanded, grabbing Frost by the wrist and pulling him from the barstool. Visibly startled, the poison needle in his tail tip sprung forth, burrowing itself into the sketchy grunt's leg; deep enough to take effect, since it seemed to make him dizzier and drunker.

"Gkk! What are you doing?" Cabba had always read Frost as being one to be defensive in anger, but he was willingly giving in to this pull. In fact, his voice was still mellow and soft as it had always been. He freed his needle from his victim's thigh, allowing him to be more easily turned around at will. 

However, he was not without a defense mechanism. Within a few seconds of movement, a few near silent pants of anxiety came from his lips. If not for this, Cabba wouldn't have been drawn back to Frost's wrist, where the needle embedded within was threatening to come out of hiding and attack. He seemed to be dead set on poisoning him, even if he did recognize who he was. Yet, there was enough hesitation to give the Saiyan leeway. He released Frost's wrist and just as quickly grabbed his upper arm instead. The Ice Demon flinched, and Cabba could have sworn his face went red for a second.

"Relax, I don't intend on killing you. I just want to take you somewhere we can talk, alone…" After a sigh, Cabba added, "So you don't have to lie to me anymore."

He continued to drag the Ice Demon along by his arm, approaching the more secluded back to the establishment. The lighting grew dimmer orange as they drew away from the bustling drunkard’s locale and into the abandoned normalcy. The loud clatter of glasses and the surrounding air of conspiracy faded to a distanced enigma.

Only three options adorned the barren back section. A small breaker room had only enough room for the box of switches itself. To the other side, the common restroom… Even if it was empty, there was no chance it would stay that way… Plus, Cabba could clearly hear the faded retching of someone who had already had too much.

His only real choice was a tad cliche, but it was the only way to guarantee no one would eavesdrop on their secrets. The door to a lone cleaning closet hung open an inch. Staff were ever so careless to leave these doors unlocked. It was practically a trope to keep the door open, silently inviting the hopelessly in love to slip in and have a slobbery make-out session in peace. Of course, Cabba sought the less messy option: simply revealing the truth, alone, no one’s lips touching anyone’s anything…

Cabba pulled Frost by the arm with him into the closet, shutting the door behind them. Finally letting go of him, he sighed and lowered to the ground, of questionable cleanliness, to sit on his knees, prompting the Ice Demon to follow suit. Once again, the lizard’s tail was swishing about, this time with anxiety.

“So… You’ve brought me to a broom closet…”

"Yes, I know. Moving on." Cabba muttered quickly. "I doubt anyone's listening in on us now. You can tell me what you've been trying to hide from me." 

"How are you... so sure that I _am_ keeping anything from you?" The Ice Demon tried to retain his facade, but he was ultimately starting to lose his confidence. His voice had begun to tremble. "How do you know if I'm the Frost you're looking for-"

The Saiyan cut him off almost instantly. "Because I know that you recognize me." With a sigh, he slipped off the loops of his mask, finally revealing his expression in full, and tucked the folded cloth into the chest of his jacket. "I know that's why you're slipping. You're scared because I'm not blind to your bullshit anymore." 

His expression turned towards Frost was dour and full of doubt and insecurity, yet the look in his eyes remained soft, almost hoping for a way out. A pair of fingers once again met back at his upper arm, rubbing anxiously against his sleeve, the nails tempted to try to scratch themselves a tear in the jacket fabric. “So, please… I’ve dropped my guard to you. You could very well take the venom from your tail and kill me now, but I know you can’t drive yourself to. My guard is down, I think it’s only fair that you drop yours too and tell me the truth… and why you’re taking on another mask.”

For a few moments, only silence was exchanged between the two. Cabba’s almost depressive look in the eyes did not even try to lighten or fade in the slightest, further poking and prodding at the Ice Demon’s psyche like a nosy needle. A quick pained whisper of "Answer me, dammit…" came from his lips in a brief breaking of the quiet. Frost was beginning to sweat, now caught between a back and forth in his brain of conceding to the truth his former companion desired- or conceding to his gut, which was begging him to just stun him and run.

As vile of a tempter the second option was, he couldn’t. This wasn’t some irrelevant useless criminal meatbag cornering him with depressed and dusky nightshade puppy-dog eyes… This was Cabba… The whole damn reason he chose to don this second mask. Conceding a secret he worked to build up was not something one would expect to easily roll off the lips, but… this was _Cabba._

He took a deep breath, finally retrieving his sunken confidence from the depths of doubt. The Ice Demon’s lips curled back up into his characteristic twist of a smile. “Well… If you’re still insistent… Then, yes~! Congratulations, my dear Cabba. You have once again seen through my clever ruse!” His voice was no longer in a state of nervous trembling, but back into his flourishing dulcet tones. 

He had repositioned himself poised in a slight pose. There was some semblance of a bow, abbreviated due to his seated position, and a hand over his chest. His other arm was outstretched behind him, freely flowing. He always had a flair for the theatrics…

Inwardly, Cabba was still leery of the lizard who broke his heart, but there was another side that was still falling for his charm. His often humorously over the top dramatics… That was part of his allure that had initially captivated him. Already being slowly roped back in, the Saiyan couldn’t help but manage a small suppressed titter of a laugh, almost a grunt, and a slight smile hidden behind the hand that tried to keep him silent. When Frost noticed this, he tried to disguise the effort as a brief throat-clearing cough into a newly formed fist.

“Hey, there you go~!” The Ice Demon’s voice had slipped into a warble. “There’s that sunshine in your eyes you were missing.” The look in his solitary eye was a peculiar mix of innocent purity with a touch of his usual playfully flirty nature.

Cabba’s cheeks went red instantly, unsure if from embarrassment or the growth of the warm and fuzzy feeling returning to his gut. “Ju-Just-” His voice once again cracked. “Shut up with that and just continue explaining.”

“Well, you’re no fun…” Frost let out a very exaggerated whimper in an attempt to drag sympathy out of Cabba, but the Saiyan’s patience was too limited to play this game. "Since you're so insistent on details, I guess I'll regale you with the story of my return to the side of light-" 

He cut himself off again, noticing his leery companion continuing to look at him with impatience and tap his fingers to his arm again. "Not that either? Fine. Tough crowd." Clearing his throat, Frost finally skipped straight to the point with his recount.

"The reason I could only tell you I was Tsurara is because that's who I'm supposed to be in order for me to live my life again. Only the assassin… and I guess you too now, know that I'm really Frost. You know that I'm a dead man walking- You're familiar with that whole 'Villainous Frost Dead' spiel, right?"

" _Very_ familiar." Cabba muttered in response.

"Good. So, I don't need to explain myself too much." Frost continued, naive to the Saiyan's tone. "I was… miserable to say the least. Not only did I lose everything with my first secret coming to light, I was further humiliated by that son of a bi-" He paused mid-word and tried to collect himself. " _Frieza_. Hit found me mentally broken, but he refused my demand that he painlessly kill me off. He carried me off to safety out of the rain." 

A pause hung in the air for no more than a few seconds before Frost's story resumed. At this point, he had inched himself forward, bridging the already short gap between him and Cabba. Startled by the close proximity, the Saiyan's fingers, once resting on his arm, instead gravitated to the pulse in his wrist, the slight elevation in pace now feeling like it was going a mile a minute. 

"But, you haven't even heard the best part of it all yet!" The Ice Demon's smile proved bolder in this moment and there was a steadier fluttering beat to his tail. "Taking on another name as Tsurara was only a _starting point_ . I've turned over a new leaf! I've taken up the vigilante life again, but this time… I'm the real deal, _baby_ …" His tail curled to the front of his body and began to brush itself along Cabba's hip, the Saiyan trying to push it away. The look in his one eye narrowed to a flirty level in a brief moment.

The Saiyan could only let out short stammering in reply. "Wait- You're- You really- Can't be ser-"

"Oh, I'm serious, no catch involved." Frost's lips had curled into a prideful smirk. "Well, unless you count the little needles, that's a whole debate of its own. Necessity, you know?"

Cabba could only let out a preemptive breath before the Ice Demon cut in again. Even though the gap between them was near nothing, he found his way to get even closer. Frost's hand rested on Cabba's folded leg, on the upper thigh, as their eyes, the Saiyan's two and the Ice Demon's one, met in an even closer proximity. Cabba's face went red hot with blush and his grip on his wrist tightened to counter his hand's trembling.

"That means everything can go back to normal! _We_ can go back to normal! You don't have to hate me anymore, it'll be like nothing bad ever happened!" Frost further pressed on, the glint in his half gaze even more prominent.

Thankfully, the Ice Demon had stopped inching forward at this point, but to Cabba, it was beginning to feel as if there was a wall closing in. The surrounding air was oddly tense and heavy again, so he attempted to stifle his breath, only worsening the blush and his jittery hand.

"So, what do you say?" Frost cocked his head with a slight touch of light-hearted laughter in his tone. His hand left his companion's thigh and retreated to the center of his chest, attempting a sincere gesture. "Can we start over? Start over like nothing ever went wrong?"

"I-" Cabba, letting out the breath he had been holding, struggled to make his response to this. "I think I-" He stopped short on this note, catching Frost off guard. He could only take a moment to collect himself and focus on his further racing pulse.

"Eh? What's wrong, my dear Cabba? You've gone quiet-"

In a split second, Frost was cut off by a harsh slap ringing out. Cabba had released his restraint on his trembling hand. He could feel his Super Saiyan transformation charged with aura, but it had sparked out rather quickly, his now raven hair spikes flopping downward into his face.

"Ow ow ow!" The Ice Demon nervously squeaked. Cabba finally raised his head, his breath now haggard and audible, and caught sight of Frost having significantly jolted backward, rubbing at a fading pink handprint on his left cheek. "What was that about?!"

Finally finding his voice again, a long sealed emotional dam within him seemed to succumb to the pressure, genuine tears of rage beginning to flow from his eyes hidden behind his hair spikes. "You-" A brief hiccup caught in his throat. "You can't just say that!"

"Say what?"

"That nothing ever happened! You can't erase the damage like that. You can't just wish away my trauma by just telling me to forget!" Cabba, his breath heaving, grabbed Frost by his shoulders. "I'm sorry, but this… this isn't some miracle where you can say it's sunshine and rainbows. Because it isn't…" He gave the Ice Demon's body a brief, yet forceful shake. "It isn't, Frost, and I wish you'd stop pretending it is!" Every decibel his voice rose, the faster the tears ran down his cheeks, pooling up in thicker drops.

Taking a second to recover from being shaken like a ragdoll, any past playfulness that remained in Frost’s solitary eye faded into softness and worry. “Cabba… I- I’m sorry. I thought you’d have wanted me to change, so we could be-” He felt a dewy teardrop land on his knee from out of the uncharted forest of his Saiyan companion’s sloped down hair. Finally noticing them, he dropped his previous train of thought. “Are- are you… crying?”

Cabba’s shoulders bristled as he tried to force his tears to withdraw. “Oh boy, give the _douche_ a prize…” He responded, sarcasm lacing his tone. “He’s finally learned how to read the room for once.”

“Cabba, please…” The Ice Demon let out a gentle sigh. “If you shut me out, I can’t help. I did this all for you! What can I do to make you trust me?” In a risky move, he dared to reach forward to brush the Saiyan’s hair spikes aside, only resulting in his arm being caught in Cabba’s vice-like and tense grip mid-action.

The locks did manage to be swept out of Cabba’s eyes despite his dissauding yelp of “Don’t touch me!” His characteristic spiky do almost instantly sprang back up into its natural shape. It was likely a Saiyan trait that caused it to spring back so easily and it was almost comic how it did, like some gag in a manga. However, Frost refrained from comment on it, as it was obviously not an appropriate time to do so. Now that he could see his eyes again, he noticed that they were starting to appear slightly puffy.

Cabba took a breather as he gently lowered the Ice Demon’s arm to its owner’s side and released it. He stopped trying to choke back his tears or force more to come out, simply letting the last few make their way down his cheeks. “Look, I… I want to trust you. I really do.” He held the point of the pulse in his wrist yet again, hoping it would slow to normalcy. “But, it’s not as easy as you make it out to be. I can’t pretend that nothing bad ever happened here. Something very bad _did_ happen. When you idolize someone for a year, then grow to know them for the next three- and then find out it's all been for nothing… You’d understand why my trust would be shaky, especially as you continue to lie your way out of fixes.”

“So,” Frost continued after a few seconds had passed wordless. “What can I do to get you to trust me, then? Is what I’m doing now… too much?”

“No, I understand you need to… you know… _survive_ and all. All I'm asking of you is that you don't keep any more secrets from me."

"Come again?"

"Frost, just listen." Cabba grabbed Frost by the shoulders, this time with no ill intent. "It's not that hard. No more lies. No more half-truths. You can play your Tsurara act for everyone on the outside, but you'll still be Frost to me. The same goes for any of your other ruses. Don't leave me out. Understood?"

The Ice Demon hesitated for a moment before swallowing nervously. "Understood."

The smile that had long vanished from Cabba's face finally resurfaced, this time in full authenticity. His sorrow seemed to melt away into an emotion that was… hard to describe and even harder to accept. "Good." He managed to respond with, though his voice was almost gone. "That's good." With a brief stifled laugh, he continued. "You know, it's kind of funny. Part of me wants to hate you so badly, yet… The other was just so desperate to look you in the eyes again."

"Well, nothing's stopping you now." A flirty look in the eye from Frost almost caught the Saiyan off guard. "Go ahead. Drink it in~"

"Yeah, I know, but… in my mind, I was thinking it would be more of looking into both eyes."

At this note, a brief choke caught in Frost's throat and his tail began to swish anxiously. "Both?!" His voice was reduced to practically a squeak. 

"Yes, both. As in, including the one you're hiding behind that bandanna."

"Well, I… uh… About that…" His solo iris tried to avoid eye contact with Cabba.

"Frost…" Cabba's eyes narrowed with skepticism. "Remember what we just talked about? About the lying and the secret keeping? I just want to see your other eye, okay?" He reached forward to Frost, searching behind his head for the tie that held the bandanna closed.

"Um, you might not want to do that!" Frost panicked.

"Hey, it's not as big of a deal as you make it out to be." The Saiyan, finally finding the small bow, proceeded to start untying the bandanna. "I'll tie it back on when I'm done. I'm not going to ruin your _aesthetic_ or whatever."

"No, really, I'm serious. You might not want to-" The knot finally came loose and the black bandanna fluttered down, landing at the Ice Demon's hip. His undamaged eye widened in fear as Cabba let out a hushed gasp in shock. "...do that…"

Rather than finding eye number two staring back at him, the Saiyan found that it was further covered by a small gauze-white square of a medical eye patch. However, the small patch did not cover the full extent of his injuries. The ends of a trio of thinning crimson scars, the blood dried and crusted, stuck out from beyond it- they almost seemed to come from claws. There were spots around the eye where his face was patchy, pink patches of underneath skin not yet fully covered back up by his pale blue scales. He could see the rounded edges of them trying to regrow into their place.

The only near-silenced words Cabba could manage were, "What the... hell?"

Frost pulled back the square gauze pad, further revealing more of the wound. In a field of three claw marks resided his weak eye, sealed over with a cherry-stained mist and forced to wince. His vision went fuzzy for a moment, the newly uncovered eye now trying to reclaim its role in the duet of eyesight. "Uh… Surprise?" The Ice Demon faked a smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. He released the patch, the elastic causing it to spring back into his eye as he let out a quick yelp of pain.

The Saiyan was still looking on in stunned silence at the revealed wound, futilely seeking the voice that had retreated down his throat. This prompted Frost to fill the interlude. "Sorry about all this… I didn't want you to see me like this. I tried to stop you, but…" He sighed. "I guess I can't exactly take it back now, can I?"

"Still…" Cabba hesitated. "Why did this… _How_ did this even happen?"

"Well, I suppose my injuries were a result of my hubris, my arrogance… and ultimately because of my foolish-"

"No," The Saiyan cut in. "I mean what _actually_ happened to get your eye so… mangled."

"Oh, yeah," Frost's better eye widened for a second, realizing what Cabba meant. He pointed out the wounds while illustrating his point. "This was the end result of my attempts to receive pardoning from the God of Destruction, which, as you can quite obviously tell, _did not work_." At the thought of Champa, he growled a little bit.

"Yeesh, what did you _do_ to him?" 

"Nothing!"

The Saiyan unfortunately did not buy this excuse. "Frost…"

"Fine, I tried to attack him while his back was turned and called him a 'rat bastard'." The Ice Demon sighed. "But, it's true though. That pussy of a deity is an _asshole_ …" He raspily half-whispered that last insult.

Cabba went into a cold sweat hearing this. "H-hey, don't say stuff like that. He could very well _destroy you_ for that… and maybe me too by association!"

"Relax, he's probably too busy stuffing his face on all of that _hip new_ Earth cuisine. I doubt he has time to have Vados peek into some random cleaning closet." Frost simply scoffed. "Besides, you know you've wanted to say it- admit it."

Cabba let out another small titter of laughter. Scratching at the back of his head, his face lit back up with a light glow of blush, unsure if from embarrassment… or something else. "Yeah, maybe once or twice…" Casting the topic aside, he continued, "Anyhow, we should probably wrap this up." There was a brief pause that the Saiyan quickly filled. “And yes, I mean both ways.” Grabbing the fallen bandanna from where it had landed, Cabba began to wrap it around the damaged half of Frost’s face, leaving a few centimeters of each edge available to tie a tiny little bow in the back. “It must be so strange having only one eye to see with. I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

Frost simply shrugged in response as Cabba finished retying the knot at the back of his head and pulled away. “Eh, it’s not _unpleasant_. I’d probably forget it was even there if not for the fact that-” He was cut off by his Saiyan companion grabbing him by his clammy azure hand and lifting him to his feet as he rose himself. “Hey, slow down- My eyes are still readjusting!”

“Oh, my bad-”

“Don’t sweat it, it’s fine.” The Ice Demon cut off his apologizing as he blinked a couple times to focus on letting the uncovered eye take charge again. “See, I’m fine again. Only needed a second, that’s all.” He smiled a genuine smile free of malice and instead full of reassurance. “I should be the one doing the apologizing after everything I’ve put you through.” His single iris shot down, then back up. “Good to know we’re at least on a firm hand-holding basis again, though.”

Realizing what he was doing, Cabba let out a brief yip out of fright and yanked his hand free from Frost’s. His face was vibrant with rosy pink blush and he tried and failed to keep his expression cool and collected. In an attempt to hide his embarrassment, he retrieved the cloth mask from the chest of his jacket and proceeded to conceal his flustered look behind it. With a brief grunt, he attempted to advance the conversation back in the direction he wanted. “Anyhow, I think we’re done here. We should probably come out of the closet now.”

A brief suppressed snicker at the Saiyan’s phrasing came from Frost’s lips. “I don’t know about you, but I think it’s hardly a secret that I’m about as straight as cooked pasta.” When there was silence on Cabba’s end, Frost worried he had said something wrong, instinctively recoiling in advance for a nudge on the arm. “Relax, relax! It’s just a joke, Cabb-” He was cut off by his companion’s next course of action, which his tensing up did not prepare him for. 

The Ice Demon soon found himself gently yet simultaneously forcibly prodded backward in the direction of the closet door, Cabba practically pinning him there as a brief gasp escaped from him. As Frost tried to hide the swallow in his throat, his panic melted away when the Saiyan suddenly put his arms around him. He initially grabbed him at the hips before slowly letting his arms travel up to his mid-back. 

“Huh?” The Ice Demon let out a soft murmur in confusion. “What’s this? I- I thought you didn’t want to touch me…”

“I never said that.” Cabba finally spoke back up. “It’s just that… Hand-holding is… I feel like…” With a sigh, he stopped fumbling for words and gave up. “Look, I don't know how I feel about this right now. I’ll probably be awake tonight regretting this, but now…” His hold tightened and he lowered his head so his chin met the Ice Demon’s shoulder. “I’m just… really happy that you’re alive…” 

Cabba’s voice reduced to trembles as a few leftover tears rolled along his face. Frost could feel a cool breath, escaping from beneath the Saiyan’s mask, along his neck. He let the embrace remain quiet, his solitary eye still wide open from the initial shock… at least it was silent until a slow rumbling purr came from his throat. 

Frost didn’t even realize it came from him until Cabba drew back. “Hey, hey, wait a minute! Are you… purring? I really don’t want to make this any more awkward than it already is!”

A slight amount of pink dusted the Ice Demon’s cheeks. “Oh, uhh… No, no, no… That was just my stomach, I swear.” He frantically lied, hopefully successfully. “It’s probably around lunchtime anyway, plus I could stand to gain a couple kilos back.”

Cabba only sighed. “Let’s just go already… Neither of us have the time to keep lurking in here.” As he prepared to grab the door handle, he turned back to his Ice Demon companion. "You should probably be heading back to your routine too. I'd say go back for your drink, but there's no doubt someone already laced it with something by now." 

"Well, technically, my current business is still in here." Frost briefly shrugged. "It's highly likely that Hit's still in here-"

His curiosity was answered by the lights swiftly flashing out. Murmurs muffled by the door could be heard among the distant patrons in the bar. "-working." Though not visible, he rolled his solitary eye. "Way to go for the overly dramatic, Hit…"

"Well, if he flipped the breaker, that should mean he's probably done with his kill right?" Frost could detect Cabba's presence by hints of his breath in the air and the sound of his voice. He had many ideas as to what he could do while the darkness hid their faces, but he refrained, knowing they would all kill the calm atmosphere in an instant. 

Within a few seconds of darkness, a light illuminated Cabba's face as his hair lit up Super Saiyan gold. The aura of flame was somewhat weak and faltering, but it proved enough to cut through the pitch black. "I guess when the lights pop back on, that'll be your cue to leave, huh?"

Frost nodded, a soft 'mhm' going with it. "Unless he’s just messing around and stalling, Hit must have nabbed his target. My job here is done, Cabba."

"And mine is too…" Cabba added near silently, the line hidden beneath a sigh. Having the reassurance that Frost was truly alive- plus the agreement to turn over a new leaf, even if it was an inch at a time, practically nulled his need to seek Hit’s advice. Once they parted ways, he could leave the criminal hotspot planet and return to the calm springtime of Planet Sadala. However, his hushed muttering did not go unnoticed.

“Did you say something?”

The Saiyan felt a jolt in his spine and, in an instant, the brilliant light in his golden locks began to spark out, returning their color to raven black and the scene to blinding darkness. “N- No! I didn’t! Don't put words in my mouth...” As he paused with a recuperating breath, the overhead lighting, thankfully, flickered back on. "There's your cue then…" 

"So it would seem." A longing smile formed on the Ice Demon’s lips. “Shall we go now, Cabba?”

Cabba only nodded, reaching back to the door handle and pushing it out, interrupting the solitude of the lone lurkers’ closet with the usual murmuring commotion of the foreboding aura in the Daitoshian tavern. The Saiyan gingerly slipped back out through the rail thin crack of the hardly opened door. Frost, of course, followed suit, but his movements were less cautious, resulting in the door swinging further out. 

As he looked out over the bar scene, the Saiyan was surprised to see that everything seemed as picturesque- if anyone could call this hive of scum and villainy by that adjective- as it once was, every criminal in their place, drunkards still nursing at their alcohol. “Are-” He hesitated. “Are you sure Hit has already cleaned up the mess? No one here seems to be the slightest bit unnerved by the fact that someone’s been killed.”

“Of course he has. I can faintly see his handiwork over in that direction.” Frost vaguely pointed over to the main bar counter from their initial encounter, his one eye squinting slightly. Cabba, being unimpeded in terms of sight, could better see what he meant. Along the long line-up of mostly empty stools, he noted a grizzled man of a peculiar species, particularly the one he had seen conversing with the Ice Demon earlier in their venture. However, this man was not moving; his face had fallen to the counter in a state of permanently comatose and, adding insult to fatal injury, through his whiskey glass. A mix of blood and alcohol dripping from his face tarnished the corpse that had been killed cleanly. It was a sight that would make the squeamish violently puke. The kind barkeep that had served him seemed to be willfully ignoring this occurrence, turned the other way and busily cleaning off another glass. 

“Mitsuya Gyosha… A name revered in criminal cozies, yet forgotten the second he croaks. No one bats an eye in a place like this.” The Ice Demon continued to explain. However, within seconds, he dropped the topic entirely, moving on to more relevant discussion. “On that… gruesome note, I suppose I really must take my leave now.” He gave a light bow, characteristic of his “golden” days as a vigilante devil in disguise, but now repurposed in genuinity. 

“It felt… really good seeing you again, Fro-” Cabba stopped himself short, noticing his mistake. “Well, we’re not in private anymore, so I guess I really should be calling you Tsurara. Either way, don’t forget what we promised, okay? No leaving me out, got it?”

“I’ll try.” ‘Tsurara’’s tone filled with a hesitant laugh. “I can’t exactly guarantee it, but I’ll try.”

“Tsu…” The Saiyan gave him a skeptic glare.

“Hey, I am in no way perfect and you never know-”

Cabba only sighed, a smile hidden beneath his cloth mask. “Just go.”

The Ice Demon shot him a sneakily flirty grin back, descending a few steps out of the dim back section before lowering himself closer to the ground, preparing a sphere of deep purple smoke bomb ki in his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“Just watch.” was Frost’s only response as he briefly gave his Saiyan companion a closer look at the energy he kept in his palm before letting it slip off his fingers and burst into a looming fog of fake smog. He quickly took cover into the low hanging cloud, concluding their seeing of each other for the day. Cabba could only assume his path of skittering in a crawl towards the exit, the fog’s conclusion being met with another burst of midnight purple dust hiding his tracks.

He let out a “tch” sound out of wry amusement. The Ice Demon called _Hit_ dramatic for flipping the breaker switches, yet he was every bit as over-the-top with his own set of parlor tricks.

However, now that Frost had concluded their chance encounter, Cabba had something else to dwell on rather than him. He could very well make his way to the exit as well, albeit without the theatrics, but there was nothing he needed to check on as well. He stepped off to the side to a secluded and slightly dusty corner of the back row. It wasn’t an act he wished to draw undue attention to, but he closed his eyes and channeled the “tingle” in his back. Sure enough, the gold of Super Saiyan washed through his hair, rather stably in fact.

It was… odd. His transformation, numerous times throughout the day, had been shaky and deactivated rather quickly and not of his own volition. Yet, now, he seemed to act as normal. Further testing his suspicion, he released the tension and let his hair slip back to its everyday noir. That happened with relative ease, yet not easing any of his concerns. He didn’t know _why_ it had been wonky before and then suddenly cured itself.

He cast the thought aside, descending back into the core of the bar scene and hoping to avoid any more shady characters that wished to either grope or rob him. The Saiyan supposed he would have no way to cure the issue with his transformation if it ever arose again; Vegeta, the one who taught him the ways, lived in the twin universe, making him even less accessible than Hit would ever be. Of course, Caulifla and Kale were even less knowledgeable than he was on the Super Saiyan subject. The pains of being the sixth universe’s resident “expert”. 

However, what mattered was that one burning issue was now lifted from his chest and that was fair enough progress to make for one day.

* * *

Frost was half-expecting the assassin to be waiting for him at the entryway to the alcove, yet there was no such presence. One side of him saw this as something to be expected. An assassin hanging outside of the door to the den where he had just done away with his target would definitely raise a red flag to a passerby. However, the other side of him was ever impatient. He was in no mood to wait.

Sighing, he pulled his hood back over his head and ducked back into the cool rain of Daitoshi, thankfully slowing down and likely leading up to an interlude. The Ice Demon begrudgingly began to make his way along the row of this district’s alcove-bound business locales, hoping that Hit had not simply gone back to the office on his own and given him the metaphorical middle finger. He subtly wished he had been paying attention to the turns they made, in case Hit truly had left him behind.

This silent contemplation was shortly after cut off by his arm being grabbed from the one of the shadowed alcoves by a lavender hand. Out of the corner of his good eye, the Arcosian spotted the glow of ruby rose irises. “Get over here already.” Hit’s gruff voice, filled with lowering patience, spoke out from the pitch black.

Not even afforded a single moment to process, he saw the world around him transform into a strange realm, almost resembling ice over a mossy pond or mint-tinted glass. It sent chills of past experience through his bones, Frost knowing well that this was the handiwork of the infamous Time Skip. Within the glassy pocket of space, Hit arose from the alcove and pulled him along, darting off to another point with a sudden burst of speed, in order to fit more action into the brevity of this state. A slight yip managed to escape his lips. 

Once the realm of glass faded, the assassin skidded to a halt, now finding himself and Frost in the seclusion of a barren in-between alley, their only company being inanimate fixtures and, if lucky, a scurrying rodent on its quest for scraps. Releasing the Arcosian’s arm, Hit had rather easily regained his composure, if any of it was lost to begin with, in stark contrast to Frost. The Ice Demon, on the other hand, was frantically trying to catch his breath, his only eye dilated and a faint tint of sickly green appearing on his face.

“So…” Hit mused, attempting to begin conversation before being promptly cut off once Frost managed to find his breath and words again.

“For the love of the _freaking Kai_ , Hit! Learn to run in real time like a normal person!”

Shrugging, his skewed form of managed sympathy, the assassin only responded, “Guess that’s a lesson learned for later. I suppose my Time Skip isn’t made for two.”

“Oh ho, you _think_?!” Frost sarcastically retorted, his voice still shaken partially by unease and the rest by pure nausea.

“Can it, Frost. Just be glad you didn’t throw up in the middle of the ride. I _really_ don’t want to know how _vomit_ behaves in timespace.” Hit grunted, ending the dispute there and prompting back his initial topic of discussion. “But, back to the topic at hand. Obviously, Gyosha’s dead as a doornail with his head through his glass of whiskey on the rocks, so you didn’t blow the mission entirely. Yet, something’s still bothering me about all this.” His glare turned to the Ice Demon. “Why did you leave your post?”

Frost lightly swallowed, subtly enough to escape detection, as he realized. He had been in such ignorant bliss encountering Cabba, almost abandoning the mission entirely. What would Hit even say to that? He had to devise an excuse. “Would you believe me if I said I had to make a break for the powder room?” Upon speaking that line, the Ice Demon cursed in his head. _That was worse._

The assassin’s glare did not ease up, unphased by this devised ploy.

“Look, the circumstances of my temporary leaving are irrelevant. He stayed put, you won the blood money, everyone’s happy except the dead guy.” Frost shrugged. “Not to mention, I had a little help from the ol’ reliable poison needle you told me I didn’t need.” He briefly waggled the tip of his tail in Hit’s sight, showing off the needle tip tauntingly.

“Tch, fine.” The hitman grunted in response. "Whatever you want to keep telling yourself. Doesn't matter what flavor the frosting is, as long as the donuts are made." Sighing, he turned back over to Frost. "Now, we should probably check to make sure that deadbeat smuggler didn't sneak anything onto you."

"The pockets button up. If he tried to open them, I'd probably notice." 

Hit's vision directed to the Ice Demon's hip. "Then, how come your left pocket is open?"

He jolted when he noticed it was unbuttoned. "Oh! That one's usually empty. I keep the important stuff on the other side. So, if something were slipped in it, I'd probably notice." Frost promptly shoved his hand in the pocket and shuffled it around inside. "See, empty-" He paused, suddenly finding an item within. "Wait… What the-"

"Hmm?"

"There's something in here…" Frost gripped the item between his fingers. It was paper thin and rustled with each motion as he pulled it out. "It seems to be some sort of piece of pa-" He unfolded the crumpled slip and, upon reading what was written on it, he began to stutter and fail for words. "-paper…" A deep red blush washed over his face. 

On the small note, written in handwriting that was an equal blend of flowing cursive and standard print, was what appeared to be a com number. Beneath it was written in parentheses _(Cabba; In case we need to talk a bit more)_. If this was in his pocket, then that meant…

His train of thought was cut off by Hit cutting in and trying to lean in over his shoulder. "What do you have there?"

Frost let out a nervous squeak as he crumpled it and shoved it back into his pocket to hide it. His face only continued to burn a ruby shade as he frantically tried to button the pocket back up. "Nothing! It's nothing, Hit!"

"Then, how come your face is beet red?"

The Ice Demon let out a faint growl. "Don't you have your own love affair to worry about, Hit?"

"First of all, for the billionth time, there is nothing happening 'under the table'. Second, Frigid will be fine. She has her little… spats, but she usually bounces back rather easily. I'll be sure she's calmed down, so you can just return to your vigilante rounds and head back home." 

"Sure, send me back so I won't catch you two having-"

Hit cut him off with a silencing hand. "No. We have the info we need from you. That's the only reason you came along and the only reason I’m telling you to go back. We’re not planning anything private."

The teasing look in Frost’s solitary eye did not waver even as he turned away. “Sure it is, Hit… Sure… If that’s the supposed ‘ _only reason_ ’, then I’ll head back and leave you to your ‘ _business_ ’.” He made frequent air quotes throughout his sarcasm-laced remarks. The Ice Demon promptly activated his dormant ki and took off into the rainy day sky in flight. “Ta-ta! Knock her dead, Romeo!” He waved with a final taunt.

He could faintly hear a soft growl of annoyance come from Hit as he continued to fly out higher into the city scape. If his vision was correct- and he half trusted it at points- he could vaguely make out the assassin’s violet blush of anger and his lavender hand raised and flipping him off.

Frost stifled a chortle behind his hand, yet it was hard to contain himself. However, he still retained his focus on charting his course ahead to the Diamond Plaza apartment, hoping to finally reclaim his lost hours of AM sleep and satisfy his stomach with a warm bento of salmon and rice. 

Still, throughout his flight onward, he couldn’t help but continue to think of his encounter from earlier- of Cabba, and how, when it came to their promise, he was in way over his head. His face continued to blush red, both in passion and confusion of where things would go from there.


End file.
